Progenitorium
by ZeroZone
Summary: Fleeing a turbulent past, Richard Belmont whisks his brother William away with him to employment at the Spencer Mansion. But things aren't as peaceful as they seem... Experiencing the Mansion Incident from within, William's investigation slowly degenerates as buried secrets are unlocked, and life becomes a struggle to survive.
1. The Dying Fire

Hello there! This is, obviously, my first story posted on here, although it is by no means the first I've ever written. It's so easy to drop a positive review or constructive criticism, and every author appreciates feedback, including me. I'd be eternally grateful, provided you like my work, if you'd let me know. I'd also like to hear where I'm going wrong if you think I'm not up to par.

I must, of course, disclaim any rights to Resident Evil, its characters and its plotlines. Although the over-arching plot of this story and many of the characters are naturally a product of my own creative mind.

One last thing: this is an introductory chapter, which means that the content is relatively shallow compared to later chapters. Plot development begins overleaf.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

- PROGENITORIUM -  
Before the Mansion Incident

The Dying Fire

Day XX, 1998

Sunset

The dying fire in the mantle, crackling softly, lent a little warmth and light to the musty and steadily-darkening room. The little flames illuminated a few old books, stuffed unceremoniously beneath a small, comfortable red chair, and flickered gently, reflected in the sallow dark eyes of its occupant.

William Belmont stared out of a dusty window of the Spencer Mansion. Outside, the last few rays of evening light drenched a portion of the great forest outside in a curtain of orange light: a picturesque canvas of beauty. But as the light was stretched the shadows began to grow, and now the beautiful trees were just black and spiky silhouettes bathed in a dusky glow.

Will allowed himself a small sigh to push the hollow in his heart at bay, to keep it from consuming him; his gaze dropped to the book clutched in his lap. It was a good book—'Great Expectations', Charles Dickens, one of his favourites—but unusually he felt no desire to read tonight. No desire to do anything.

Well… maybe not unusually, given the circumstances.

He sat like that for ages, losing himself in nothing. He didn't really feel anything but a sense of pervading emptiness, numbness, one with which he was far too familiar. Without Richard to comfort him he didn't know what to do.

A shadow suddenly lanced through the light as some of the sun's last rays were finally extinguished. Outside the window, he could see, the orange sky was fading rapidly to grey and black. So he sat, and stared, and waited for the day to disappear.


	2. Approach

Chapter One

Approach

March 24th, 1998

Near midnight

Midnight was fast approaching Raccoon Forest. The woods were not quiet: a thundering spring storm, having reached its crescendo, unleashed a cascade of rain over the entire region, weighing heavily on the swathes of evergreen. The moon was invisible behind thick black-and-grey clouds, and only flashes of lightning illuminated the shimmering ocean of grey-green, followed quickly by rolling, booming thunderclaps.

A train thundered between the trees, cutting effortlessly through the torrential downpour, and slicing the darkness in two with its beacon-eye headlamps. A flash of lightning illuminated the name on its side: 'Ecliptic Express'.

On most nights, the train would be filled with people. But tonight, its carriages were empty. Only one window was illuminated by the electric glow of a lamp.

This small two-bed cabin contained the train's only passengers. A young man lay on the top bunk of the bunk-bed. Through dark brown eyes, he was staring up at the ceiling, listening to the rain's drum. The cabin was plain and untidy, illuminated by a little electric lamp perched on a small cabinet. The little desk under the window was cluttered with leftover papers, and an old-fashioned typewriter was set on it at a skewed angle, perhaps knocked ajar by the motion of the train. On the floor next to the bed a large black rucksack was placed, a couple of suitcases had toppled over, and random junk from previous residents lay strewn all over the place.

Despite the hour, William Belmont was not tired. Having travelled by coach, plane and presently train from England to America less than six hours ago he was experiencing the other side of jet-lag: complete alertness in spite of the lateness of the hour. He'd never travelled farther than fifty miles from home in his entire life before this; the feeling was strange to him.

He held up the letter to read it again.

_Dear Mr R. Belmont,_

_Thank you for your correspondence. I am pleased to inform you that the position as a security official, which was offered to you previously, is still available. I can also confirm that arrangements have been made regarding your transportation to the United States for your younger sibling and yourself. The following, all paid for by the Umbrella Corporation, are enclosed:_

_-2 one-way First Class train tickets from your residence to Heathrow Airport, London (please collect tickets on arrival at your local train station)_

_-2 one-way First Class plane tickets from Heathrow Airport (London, UK) to O'hare International Airport (Ohio, USA)_

_-2 one-way coach tickets from O'hare International Airport (coach depot B4) to Umbrella Corporation Private Train Line Depot 2, Raccoon County_

_-2 cabin reservation coupons for the Umbrella Corporation's luxury transport service 'Ecliptic Express', specifically arranged to transport yourselves directly to the designated facility (your luggage will be transported to your room separately upon arrival)_

_Designated times for these transportation arrangements are printed overleaf; please take careful note of these to avoid disruption to your transportation arrangements. Your train departs at 12.36 PM on March 24th_

_Sadly I am unable to greet you on arrival at the facility—however a guided tour has been arranged for you, to begin immediately upon your arrival. For your reference, the name of the designated guide is Miss Alice Pearson._

_All our staff at the Spencer Mansion eagerly await your arrival. More detailed files describing the duties and responsibilities of your position, as well as maps, timetables and other information, will be provided to you upon the conclusion of your tour._

_My wife will be in contact with you shortly to discuss your work, which I'm sure will be of the highest possible standard. Please give your brother my regards._

_Best wishes,_  
_Dr W. Birkin_

With a sigh, he slipped the letter into his bag—a beige, multi-pocketed shoulder bag, of which he was particularly fond—and hung it back over the side of the bunk. The Umbrella Corporation… global pharmaceutical consortium and, increasingly, famous pioneer of modern medicines. To think that Richard had been offered employment by such a prestigious organisation, nearly halfway across the globe…

He leaned over the bunk to look down at the lower bed, and there was Richard, arms crossed behind his head with his eyes closed. He wasn't asleep: if he were, he'd be snoring his head off, like he always did… and he wouldn't be opening one dark eye, or smiling crookedly up at his younger sibling.

"Alright?" he asked, in the soft voice he always used with his little brother. That tone always sounded out of place coming from this mammoth, muscular man and his dark, rough-hewn features.

William nodded, and did his best to smile despite his anxiety. "I'm okay," he replied, aware of the quietness of his own tone.

And he was, sort of. Logic insisted that he'd never _been _better, travelling alone with Richard, for the first time in their lives free from the burden of the past. The future may perhaps be as bright as a flash of lightning… one of which presently bathed the room in a brief, white-hot glow.

William took the chance to break eye contact and lay back down. A boom of thunder broke the near-silence, ending the moment.

Truth be told, he was scared. Suddenly, in the space of just a few days, the Belmont siblings had been catapulted by circumstance to a whole different continent and dropped into a brand-new life. In this way, Richard was William's lifeline: the younger could never survive such a transition alone. Richard was under enough pressure: he didn't want to burden his older brother with his meaningless, hypocritical worries.

Richard's absolute trust allowed the half-lie to pass over effortlessly, and a stab of guilt punctured William's heart. Over his turbulent seventeen years William had grown very used to shame… but somehow none of that compared to the despair of lying to Richard, even to protect him from any greater burden. God only knew how the pressure of having William around must weigh on Richard, especially after all these years of it.

Even now, William felt like a weight on Richard's shoulders. This escape was Richard's greatest opportunity: an offer of full-time employment from the Umbrella Corporation, to work in a security team at a specialist facility. Yet William was needlessly tagging along, clinging onto Richard and feeling like a leech on his brother's back.

"I'm glad you're here, _Cucciolo_," Richard spoke, habitually using his term of endearment. _Cucciolo; _cub. William closed his eyes and lay farther back into the mattress, pulling up the thin bedsheets and snuggling into their warmth.

"I'm glad you're here, too," he replied, and somehow voicing this sentiment lifted his spirits. The future _was _bright… for both of them. Surely that was cause enough for happiness. He tentatively allowed himself a little smile, a gesture which felt disturbingly unfamiliar to him after all those years of pain and hardship and tears, with only Richard to keep them both going. At twenty-six Richard was the responsible one, and always had been. Frankly, William thought it was a miracle that Richard wasn't the wreck that he himself was, having coped for nine more years and god only knew how much turmoil. He never spoke of the years before William was born, and William would never ask into something so personal.

Richard was so strong.

William considered their shared pasts, and how the two of them had somehow grown to be so different amidst their shared hardship. Even physically the dichotomy was clear: Richard, tall and muscular, towered over William's short and slight frame. Where Richard's hair was cut fairly short, William's was longer, wavier. There were further differences; their personalities were completely opposed. Richard's strong, brooding, intimidating presence (towards anyone but William, of course) couldn't be farther from William's own meek and quiet persona, feeling constantly on the verge of wild-eyed panic. Strange how two people could grow from the same roots to be so different, yet form such a powerful of trust and comfort.

"You tired?" Richard asked.

"Nope."

"Then come sit with me, _Cucciolo._"

William hopped down from his bunk easily enough, and crawled onto the end of Richard's, who was lying back with his arms folded behind his head. Richard smiled at him, narrowing his eyes.

"…What?" he asked.

After a few seconds of this, Richard reached down to his rucksack, unzipped it, and pulled out a rectangular frame: at first William thought it was a photo frame, but in fact it was a mirror. He held it out facing William at arm's length.

"Tell me what you see," he said.

William sighed light-heartedly, but looked into the mirror anyway.

It hadn't been very long since he'd really gotten a hold on his phobia of mirrors. Richard thought it was a consequence of his low self-esteem, projected onto a poor self-image, which made sense. He'd hidden the fear as a child, but eventually Richard had found out about it, and had come up with a ritual to help him through it. He still occasionally brought it out at random times, just to check that the phobia wasn't recurring.

"What do you see?" Richard asked.

William stared hard at his own reflection: a thin face; big, widely-shaped eyes and the black crescents beneath them; two small round ears; thin, worried lips; messy dark-brown hair.

"A lot of things I don't like," he said.

Richard shrugged. "Everyone has those. What about the things you _do _like?"

"Well, most of those I share with you."

Richard smiled. "Look again."

He looked back into his reflection. Of the features William was proud to have, most of them he did indeed share with Richard. Dark-brown coloured hair; one plain, straight nose; olive, almost bronze-toned skin; and deep brown eyes, so dark as to be almost black. Being part Italian, such features were perhaps to be expected. It was strangely comforting to think that half the blood flowing through his veins belonged in another country… painful, too, sometimes.

Not that William really knew much about their shared culture. Richard did, presumably having been taught by their mother before William was born: he spoke the language fluently. William's breadth of knowledge was lesser. For some reason their mother had never made any effort to teach him much, although he'd picked up a fair bit of the language from Richard easily enough, over time. Sometimes they spoke to each other in short Italian phrases, just for their own amusement.

Richard had lowered the mirror. His expression softened. "There's nothing to hate about you, _Cucciolo._ Believe me."

William lowered his gaze. "…I'm trying."

Richard smiled, kindly.

"_Forte Cucciolo."_

For a moment, the thunder stopped, and the Belmont brothers shared a minute of peaceful silence.

Satisfied, Richard broke the reverie and laid his head back onto his folded arms. William lifted a wrist to look at his watch. A cheap, simple analog, he cherished it utterly, as it was a birthday gift from Richard for when he'd turned sixteen. It was also one of the few nice things he owned that their father hadn't smashed or sold. The simple brown leather band had a comforting, cosy feel, and the cool metal circle of the clock face was oddly comforting on his wrist. The hands behind the glass, polished to a shine as always, read 11:55, softly ticking the seconds away to midnight. He wondered how long it would be until they arrived at the facility, and voiced the thought.

"Shouldn't be more than a few hours, I think," Richard said.

William brought up his knees and rested his chin on them. "…Do you think we'll be happy there?" he asked, uncertainly.

Richard, on the other hand, was confident. "Of course, _Cucciolo_. They're bringing us in on a_ private train, _all to ourselves. It's all uphill from here, I promise."

William considered this. "A private train… they must be pretty eager to have you, throwing all these perks into the mix."

"I guess so… I think they're just desperate for some decent security, to be honest," Richard reasoned. "Big old mansion in the middle of the woods? Prime target for burglary."

"Makes sense. I wonder why they're so set on _you_, though. They could have just employed someone local, would have saved them on all those travel costs."

Richard shrugged. "Umbrella's a big company; they can afford to be choosy. Dr Birkin said something about my file appealing to the board, or something. Who cares, anyway? We should just appreciate the opportunity."

"Anyway, we should get some sleep," he concluded. Sudden nervousness overcame William at the thought of this unknown new life, only a few of hours away and approaching fast. Even the thought was overwhelming.

"Okay," William replied, trying to shrug off the foreboding, and clambered off Richard's bed and up to his own bunk once more. Richard reached over to the little desk lamp and pulled its chord, extinguishing the light with a _click._

"Goodnight, _Cucciolo_," Richard said with a yawn. He, who should be just as jet-lagged as William, could apparently sleep through anything. The thought made William smile: Richard and his little quirks were always amusing, and always had been. He feigned a yawn for Richard's sake and closed his eyes. Just a few hours remained and then everything would change for good, and for the better. William closed his eyes.

"Goodnight… _Lupo_."


	3. Warm Welcome

Chapter Two

Warm Welcome

March 25th, 1998

Just after dawn

The doors of the Spencer Mansion slammed shut.

Hands clutched nervously in his pockets, William took in the picturesque hall. The grand room, bathed in golden sunshine flowing in through its high windows, was distinctly Victorian in design: dark wood panelling made up the walls and the high domed ceiling, as well as the second-floor balcony, which flanked the entire perimeter of the room. A golden chandelier hung down from the ceiling above the broad staircase, glistening in the light. The wall at the top of the stairs was in fact a magnificent painting, a dark canvas of colour. Down the steps, like a blood-red waterfall, a plush velvet carpet flowed right up to William's feet, on top of the reflective, shiny white marble tiling which covered the rest of the floor.

After a few seconds the echoes died away, and were replaced by a genteel chorus of chirping of forest birds from outside. William was pulled from his peaceful reverie by a nudge to the arm, and he turned to Richard, who was looking down at him. "What do you think?" he asked.

"It's amazing," he replied, taking in the grandeur once more. It was. Their entire home back in England could have slotted easily into this hall. Everything, from the chiselled patterns in the roof to the decorative candle-holders around the room, epitomised architectural beauty. It was the most incredible place William had ever seen, the mansion of his daydreams. He couldn't wait to explore it with Richard.

"Huh." William watched as Richard shifted slightly and folded his arms. He was obviously impressed, but a slight air of impatience had fallen across him. "Where's the guide? The letter said he'd be waiting for us…"

But when several minutes of waiting turned up nobody, Richard's patience wore thin. "Well, whatever. Let's try that door over there…"

They both turned to a big double-door in the wall to the left. Richard strode over to it, dragging his suitcase along behind him, but William hesitated. Somehow he didn't feel this place should be treated with flippancy, it was far too precious. Certainly far beyond anything he'd ever experienced before, in terms of grandeur. Would they be scolded for trespassing if they wound up out of bounds?

"Don't worry, _Cucciolo_," Richard reassured him, pushing open one of the doors with his back. "This is our home now. No-one will mind us having a look around."

He was right, of course. William just felt out-of-place, like he was intruding in someone else's house. But what was the worst that could happen? So he took a breath, and followed Richard through the door.

Richard held the door open while William passed through.

The room had an echo: the sound of their footsteps resonated back to them. This room was as impressive as the last: a slim, long rectangle, whose shape was matched by a slimmer, shorter rectangular table stretched right down the room, complete with white tablecloth, candlesticks, cutlery and pretty dark wooden chairs. The right wall was dominated by two paintings and a grandfather clock, which filled the silence with a constant, hollow metronome of ticking.

There was nobody around, in spite of the early hour—besides the sound of clockwork and the birds outside there was no noise. The tables were fully set, yet there was no sign of food or drink—or anyone to use it, for that matter. For all its detailing and decoration, the room felt remarkably bare.

Richard wandered around to the long table's right side, where the grandfather clock was flanked by a painting and a little table, topped with a large ceramic vase. In the brightness of the room, the painting was disturbing: it depicted two fencing swordsmen. One, himself impaled through the chest by the other's rapier, had stabbed his adversary with his own blade through the skull.

Creepy…

Richard scraped back a chair and rested his elbows on the dining table, craning his neck to look around. "This is a nice place. Where is everybody, though?"

William wandered around to the far end of the table. Opposite, the nearby wall was decorated with a stone mantelpiece. The hearth was unlit, presumably due to the early hour. Above it, higher on the wall, a stone shield with two crossing swords decorated the wall. A coat of arms, maybe?

Directly below, another shield, this one made of wood, was set into a hollow in the wall. It was a well-crafted woodcut, covered in neat and intricate designs, but none of these appeared to have a specific meaning. It looked out of place between the two pretty candleholders and the pair of expensive-looking vases.

"Oh no, you're already here! I'm so sorry!"

Startled, William glanced up at the second floor balcony, which surrounded the room's perimeter. Leaning over was a blonde-haired woman in a white blouse, hand over her mouth. "Stay right there, I'll be down in a second!" she called, in a pleasant, very stereotypical American accent. She disappeared behind the railing and the rapid clip-clopping of her high-heels reverberated around the room.

Richard, rising from his seat, turned to William with one bushy eyebrow raised. "You alright?"

William just smiled nervously, tucking his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie. He could feel his nerves welling up again. He wasn't very good with meeting people...

It really embarrassed him sometimes. Well, all the time, really. His social inability felt like a tangible weight on his heart. Consciously, he knew full-well that there was nothing to fear from most strangers but still he panicked in the presence of any figure of authority, apparently even a petite blonde woman hanging over a railing. Without Richard with him he'd probably have had a breakdown by now.

Weak.

He clutched at Richard's jumper as the door behind them banged open, and the woman from before clip-clopped inside. She was a pretty peroxide blonde, short, bespectacled, hair tied back into a neat low ponytail, clutching a thin paper folder to her chest. A simple white blouse and grey tulip skirt adorned her slim figure, the set completed with a pair of tall white high-heels. The general effect was 'secretary'. Despite her pretty features she looked slightly bedraggled, as if she'd just woken up, and her light-blue eyes possessed the slight shine of panic worn by those prepared for a scolding. William knew that expression quite personally.

Nonetheless she smiled brightly in the face of Richard's famously intimidating knotted brow, which was quite impressive, in William's opinion. "Hi… I'm so sorry I'm late, it's been really busy today, I came as fast as I could…"

Richard just shrugged, arms crossed. Sometimes, William thought, his stoicism bordered on rude. Her smile waned slightly, but she ploughed on regardless. "Alice Pearson. You must be Richard, Richard Belmont?" She held out a hand to shake, which Richard accepted with a brisk nod.

"And you, uh_…"_ she said, turning to William,_ "_must be… William, was it? I guess you prefer Will?"

In fact William hated this derivative, but had no chance to comment, and wouldn't have done anyway.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." She smiled nicely, but inquisitively, and William realised he was still clutching nervously at Richard's jumper. In spite of his embarrassment he couldn't quite bring himself to let go. For some reason he couldn't quiet his nerves.

"It's daunting, coming here for the first time. Trust me, when I arrived a year ago I was pretty terrified." Somehow, this wasn't particularly encouraging. "It's grand though, isn't it?" she continued. "Please try not to worry." She smiled again, some might say a touch too brightly, and launched into explanation.

"This is the Spencer Mansion. You know already, I'm sure, that this is a private research institution owned and operated by the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Corporation."

Yes… Umbrella. The pharmaceutical research company had achieved widespread fame in recent years for its innovations in the medical and chemical industries. A mansion in the middle of the woods was a strange place for pharmaceutical research, though… perhaps it was a quiet study retreat, maybe used during slow growth seasons?

"Um, okay…" Alice opened her folder and removed a small piece of paper, glancing over it briefly. "Right. I'm supposed to show you around. Okay. Basically, the facility is divided into two wings. We'll start with the west wing, which is the one we're in now. Follow me, please."

She led the way through the dining hall, and through a door near the opposite end, into a brightly-lit hallway which branched left and right.

"All the way to the right and down the stairs is the kitchen, but you probably don't need to worry about going down there… the far door leads to the music room."

Music room? Hmm…

"If you go left—" she indicated the other way, from which bright sunlight flowed through a tall window, "—there are a couple of chairs, and if you go all the way along you'll find the side stairs that lead up to the second floor. The main stairwell is this way." She pushed open the door straight ahead and stepped through into a similar hall.

"This is the back hallway. That door on the left leads to the keeper's bedroom… he's a bit of a grouch, but kindly don't tell him I told you so. Nobody gets along with him."

"Who's the keeper?" Richard asked.

"Oh, his name's Peter. Peter Fieldhouse. He's the caretaker, pretty much, but he _thinks_he owns the place..." She spoke of him with obvious distaste.

"That nook on the right just leads to a funny little room… there are a lot of those all over the mansion. Most of them are just decorative, though, and some of them are locked up anyway. After few days you'll learn to ignore them. It'll be a lot simpler to find your way around when you learn where not to go."

Right now, nothing about this place seemed simple. Each door was practically a work of art, but this meant that there was very little to distinguish one from another. If he wasn't careful, William suspected he might end up walking right into Peter Fieldhouse's bedroom by mistake on the way to the kitchen hallway. He wondered if it had taken a long time for the staff here to learn their way around so well… and why the place had been designed in such a labyrinthine manner. Visitors could easily get lost here.

"Let's keep going," said Alice.

They walked down the hallway quickly: William had to jog a little to keep up with Alice's brisk pace and Richard's huge strides. This hallway also split in opposite directions. "Down there—" she indicated right, past a series of airy, open windows and expensive-looking dressers—"is the greenhouse. Peter cultivates plants in there… some of them are unique to the Raccoon Forest, so that's pretty interesting, I guess. But no one else really uses it." Endemic plant-life? That did sound pretty interesting. William made a mental note to research it later.

To the left was another door, which led on to another hallway. At the end of it, round a corner, loomed a large set of stairs, with a door in the dark corner at its base.

Alice opened the door and poked her head inside. "Hmm, Stephen's not in… he's our resident medic and pharmacist. This is the first aid room, by the way," she explained, pushing the door open to show them. It was largely bare, with a little desk, chair and bed against the far wall, and a couple of wooden shelves filled with bottle medicine adjacent to them. "There's plenty of medicine in here, so if you ever get a headache or a cold or something just come and grab some, everyone else does."

"…Am I doing alright with this? The tour, I mean..."

It was Alice who'd spoken. She looked suddenly hesitant: she was wringing her hands nervously.

Richard hesitated. "This place is really… confusing," he said, tactfully. William privately agreed: he felt totally lost already.

Alice sighed, and sat down on the bottom stair with her head in her hands. Suddenly she looked utterly exhausted. "You're right, I'm sorry… I'm a terrible guide. This kind of thing really doesn't play to my strengths…" she looked up at them wearing an almost frightened expression, as if expecting a scolding.

"Don't worry about it," Richard said, in his typical unsympathetic monotone. William was sure he appreciated her position, though, even if he wasn't being expressive about it. He plucked up his courage and offered a tentative smile, feeling a stab of pity for this clearly drained woman. She couldn't be much older than himself, but her worried frown aged her face by several years, and the bags under her eyes emphasised her already obvious exhaustion.

She returned the smile gratefully. With a sigh, she stood back up again and brushed off her white skirt. "Thank you. I'm sorry, just a little tired, that's all. Anyway, shall we move on?"

They trekked up the staircase and into yet another bright and airy hall. Banisters lined the top of the stairs, and several doors were set into the nearby walls. Alice walked over to one, and led Richard and William inside.

"This is… oh, good morning, Alias. Uh… what are you doing here?"

The room was a quaint little space with dark wood panel walls, all illuminated by a small ceiling chandelier. At either end were two chests of drawers, set below disturbingly lifelike moose heads. There was a small table in the centre of the room and a comfy-looking chair, in which a man was sitting clutching a mug of a steaming hot drink. He turned to the entourage.

William slipped behind Richard. He felt uncomfortable, meeting all these unfamiliar people today, and hoped it wouldn't become too regular an occurrence over the course of his stay. Wishful thinking: if they were going to be living here, he couldn't avoid meeting the other staff forever. It was ridiculous to be so nervous, really. Still, he hoped Richard was with him when the time arrived to be introduced to the other residents. He wasn't convinced that he'd make a good impression on his own.

"Hey, Alice," said the man, standing up. "My shift starts at nine, I just grabbed a coffee. Oh… so you're Richard?"

Richard held out a hand. "Good to meet you."

Alias took it, shaking it firmly. "I'm part of the mansion's security team… and so are you now, I guess. Nice to meet you too. We could do with an extra pair of hands. Who's this?"

William peeked around Richard's frame: his brother didn't step aside, forming quite a comforting barrier, but he did cross his arms and change his stance defensively.

Alias was a middle-aged man of average build, with greying brown hair and kind brown eyes. His face was starting to wrinkle and he wore his uniform comfortably, with the top button of his shirt undone and his trousers loosely belted.

"My brother, William," Richard stated. His tone and, presumably, expression, had hardened. Alias looked mildly taken aback, which wasn't surprising. Richard was being defensive... and already it was on the verge of causing trouble.

"Um…" Alice filled the awkward silence, quite bravely, in the face of Richard's stony stare. "Sorry, Alias, but we have to get on with the tour..."

"Uh… okay, sure thing. See you round, Alice. And I'll see you tomorrow, Richard. You start at eight, I believe. Have you got your schedule yet?"

Alice cut in. "I'll give it to him after the tour, Alias, don't worry."

"Alright." He still looked confused. "Catch you guys later… see you around, William."

The trio stepped out, and Alice closed the door behind them. "Alias… huh. Um, he's a nice guy, I guess." she said, leading the way around the banisters. "Scott is, too. He's the other guard, by the way. He's younger than Alias, closer to our age. I'm sure you'll get along with him, Richard. He's very kind."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Alice led them through a nearby door, to another hallway, and William was confronted with a full-length mirror.

He jerked back in surprise. Alice didn't notice, but Richard did, who silently laid a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. William closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. It was just a mirror, after all. Things you don't like? Everyone has those.

Alice adjusted her skirt in the reflection. "This is one of the decorative hallways. It's just mirrors and spears, mostly. Everything's decorated like this, no idea why. No-one comes through here very much anyway."

The area was darker than most of the house, lacking windows, and indeed had an isolated atmosphere, as if no-one had been here in a while. Alice led them down the hallway, Richard first with William close behind him. Several mirrors were attached to or leaned against the walls, and past a long row of golden metal spears, all balanced on their bases or against the walls. Several stone busts also decorated the room, crafting a mixture of Greek and Medieval influence. The décor gave this hallway a strange feeling of the historic, which neatly enhanced its atmosphere of desolation.

…It wasn't just this corridor, though, was it? Every room they'd seen had its own unique design and architectural beauty, but besides Alias in the lounge, the whole west wing was obviously deserted. Hadn't Alice said it was busy today? Hard to describe this desolate state of affairs as 'busy' by any stretch of the imagination.

"Here we go…" said Alice, pushing open another door.

This was another strange room: a shadowy hallway, lit by flaming torches set into the walls. Alice led them around a corner. In front of them, a large pair of metal double doors was cast in flickering shadows… creepy atmosphere. William's thoughts were back to that disturbing painting of the two swordsmen fighting. What could be beyond the threshold of these doors?

"This is in my instructions, so… this is the library." Alice pushed a door wide. William looked inside.

The room was magnificent. Light and airy, bright sunlight cascaded in through its high windows, little motes of dust swirling among its rays: the room was not unlike the entrance hall in atmosphere. It even possessed the same checkerboard marble floor. But what the latter lacked, and the former possessed in excess, was shelves and shelves of books.

William loved books. Fact, fiction; biographical, encyclopaedic, scientific, pictographic; horror, comedy or romance; old-fashioned, brand-new; play or poem, educational or fantastical… almost any book could easily capture his heart. These walls were filled with shelves of them. There must be hundreds, thousands of tomes, itching to be read—

A hand on his shoulder jerked him back just in time for the door to slam right in his face. Startled, he leapt back farther and almost tripped over his own ankles, but Richard's firm grip on his shoulders kept him upright.

"Oh damn, I completely forgot!" Alice proclaimed, having let go of the open door to cover her mouth in exaggerated horror. Richard's furious stare passed straight over her as she shoved her folder into William's unresisting hands. "I need to go, all your paperwork and stuff is in there, I'm so sorry but I really have to run…"

And she took off down the hallway. The siblings watched her disappear round the corner, and after a few seconds a door creaked open and slammed shut. Suddenly, they were alone.

"Well, that was nice. So welcoming…" Richard grumbled, carefully letting go of William, whose heart was beating staccato from surprise. "Wasn't she assigned to show us the whole mansion?" William didn't reply, careful not to provoke Richard's potential anger, which could become extremely volatile. Richard plied the folder gently from his death-grip.

"Well, whatever," Richard said, tucking it under one arm. "I guess now we can do what we want." He grinned, and while William just smiled in response he felt secretly relieved. A belligerent Richard was an explosive Richard, and they could do without a fight on their first ever day in their new home. They'd already made a precarious impression with Alias. Richard didn't seem too agitated by this sudden disorganisation, fortunately, which was a good start.

…It felt strange, thinking of this splendid mansion and its sprawling grounds as 'home'. It was like he was standing in a museum, or examining a work of art: a place to visit, something to appreciate and admire, but ultimately not somewhere to live, not something to feel or tangibly experience. Or perhaps it was the concept of 'home' itself that felt so alien. Could a house of pain, survived in but never really loved, be called home? Home was a place of safety, a sanctuary; not a world of torment and fear. Home was a place to take pride in, not one from which you prayed, every day, for escape.

Richard clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Want to go in, _Cucciolo_? We can pick out some books, if you want."

"Okay." Each pushing a heavy door wide, the brothers stepped inside.

A blanket of warmth and peace immediately shrouded William as he walked slowly across the library floor, taking in the sight of all the books around him. It was a beautiful room. Light shimmered down through the high window-panes, which were still dripping with the rain of last night's storm, bathing the dark wooden shelves in a golden glow. Little dust motes swirled around within the rays.

Most of the walls were entirely filled with tall, broad oak bookshelves. An iron ladder towards the far corner of the room climbed up to a little metal balcony, where even more bookcases were set. Enthralled, William wandered idly across to one of the bookcases, picking out a shoulder-high shelf at random, and ran his fingers along the spines.

They felt leathery and dusty. Looking at the tips of his fingers, he was surprised to find that they were covered in grey dust: none of these books had been disturbed for a very long time.

He leaned in closer to examine the titles, and had to wipe some of the dust away to read them: the whole shelf was a neat catalogue of thick encyclopaedias on various topics, ranging from history to science to literature. This was a research-based workplace, wasn't it? He remembered Richard describing it as such. Books like these should have been on and off the shelves in a heartbeat, scrutinised and referenced endlessly by the researchers. But besides Alice and Alias they hadn't seen a single staff member yet, bookworm or not.

William traced the room's perimeter, examining each section of books closely. All were in the same state: covered with a heavy, discolouring layer of dust. Not one tome had been touched in quite a while. It was as if they'd been left in the same positions since the day they were put there. He wondered if there was another library, which the researchers used more prominently.

William turned to Richard. He was standing across the room, idly pondering the books on one of the shelves, obviously without interest. Unlike William, Richard wasn't much of a reader. Libraries held no special interest for him.

Feeling a little ashamed for boring his brother, William carried on searching. This case was filled to the brim with every kind of biology book. He read a few titles at random: 'The Evolution of the Carnivorous Plant'; 'Anatomy of the Canine'; 'Amphibian vs. Reptile: Equipped for Climatic Extremes'; 'Biospheres: Desert-Dwelling Plants and Animals'; 'Inside the Shark'. He remembered reading somewhere about shark brains containing a kind of medicinal chemical… actually maybe that was just a film. These might be the kinds of books he'd expect pharmaceutical researchers to be studying, but like all the others, every one was cloaked in a discolouring layer of dust.

"William, look what I've found…" Richard called from the other side of the room. He was leaning against a bookcase, swinging a thin book casually between thumb and forefinger. A genuine smile spread across William's features as he drew close enough to read the title.

Spirits lifted, he grasped the novel in both hands: 'Great Expectations', by Charles Dickens.

"I thought you'd like it." Richard grinned, folding his arms contentedly. "It's one of your favourites, isn't it?"

William was touched by his thoughtfulness. "How did you find it?" he asked. Richard gestured to a shelf, and he shuffled in to take a closer look.

"There's a whole shelf of them." And there was, indeed, a section of a shelf devoted to Dickens material, seemingly arranged in chronological order of publishing. More broadly, the surrounding shelves contained novels by many historical authors: Abernathy, Wilde, Lambert, Grimm… all, noticeably, male. He wondered if the authors were categorized by gender… he'd have liked some Brontё, if he could find any.

But these books seemed quite out-of-place here, in a research facility library, now that he thought about it. Maybe this was someone's private collection, available for the residents to borrow. They were probably too busy with more relevant research books for recreational reading, though. That would explain at least part of the library's state of abandonment.

William was eager to explore these books, but he didn't want Richard waiting around unwillingly. "Can I look around a bit more? I won't be long," he asked, feeling slightly guilty.

Richard just shrugged, unfazed. "Take your time, I don't mind."

So they spent a long while searching the shelves, occasionally picking out interesting-looking books, which Richard crammed into his rucksack. After a time it became apparent that, for some reason, none of the books in this musty library were published after the 1960's. How long had dust been gathering in this forgotten room?

As William traced his fingers over the books lining a lower shelf, he revelled in the feeling of quiet peace. Spending quality time with Richard had become a rare gift over the years… in this bright, sunlit room, surrounded by books and with Richard at his side, he felt truly at peace for the first time in a long, long time. He could stay like this for hours.

After a while, William slipped beneath a stone overhang, behind the only shelf which wasn't set along a wall. It was filled with particularly old books on both sides. William found the shaded little nook quite cosy, and decided to look around for some last-minute reading material.

Most of the books on these shelves possessed archaic or cryptic titles: some were even in Latin or Greek, or were so old as to be entirely illegible. Every one looked interesting, but like the others, they were all cloaked in dust from the undisturbed passage of time.

Wait…

Looking carefully, it became clear that one of these books was different from the others. Apart from anything its colour was much brighter: whereas the other books were bound in dark shades of deep red, greying green or autumn brown, this one was sky-blue. It was also thinner than those around it, as well as a bit smaller. Unlike the rest, its spine—decorated with beautiful, curly white patterns—was perfectly clear of dirt and grime.

Fascinated, William carefully curled two fingers around the top and pulled it loose. He ran his fingers along the back: as he'd thought, this book was strangely clear of dust. He flipped it over to examine the front cover. In bold white script, the title read:

EAGLE

of

SOUTH

WOLF

of

NORTH

Intrigued, he opened the cover and was surprised to find that a hollow had been created inside by cutting a large circle out of every page. Slotted into this hollow was a beautiful silver medallion.

He traced his fingers gently over the precious object: in spite of the library's comfortable warmth, its etched metal surface was cold to the touch. An etched design on the front was shaped into the outline of a standing wolf, in a pose much like the English dragon, howling to a silver sky. The alcove's dusky light shimmered off its surface and deepened its shadows, lending the silver wolf a lifelike, three-dimensional quality.

"William?" Richard called. William snapped the book shut, almost guiltily, as if touching such a beautiful object was a punishable crime. For a brief but bizarre moment, he considered hiding the book in his own satchel and taking it with him without Richard's knowledge. But what would that achieve? A touch hesitantly he slipped it back onto the shelf, but stopped before pushing it in. It was extremely odd that such an item was so elegantly hidden away. Was it important somehow? He thought of the little disused rooms that Alice had mentioned, and wondered if other strange little secrets were disguised like this, scattered throughout the mansion. There was still so much to explore.

"Coming," he said. He pushed the book gently back into place, and stepped out from the shadows into the morning light.


	4. Dark and Light

Chapter Three

Dark and Light

March 25th, 1998

Midday

"So…" Richard began, closing the library doors behind him. "Should we try that lift?"

There was an old-fashioned elevator next to the door to the library, complete with a metal cage door. William had no idea where it led to. Richard tried to call it: there was no response. "Oh well," he said dismissively.

William yawned and leaned against a wall. He'd been worried this might happen… jet-lag was setting in, like a tangible weight on his shoulders. He was developing a pressure headache behind the eyes, which stung slightly in the firelight from the flaming torches. He rubbed them with the palm of his free hand.

In his other hand, he was holding Alice's folder. He looked down at it. A small scrap of paper was clipped to the front: he recalled Alice removing a piece of paper from it before beginning their trip through the mansion. This must be that piece of paper. It was a neat hand-written list of notes regarding the tour:

_TOUR _

_West wing and east wing._

_West Wing_

_Begin in entrance hall 1F. Go through 1F dining room to west wing corridor, show seating area. Locate kitchen and music room + enter greenhouse hallway. Locate Keeper's bedroom, show greenhouse, enter west wing stairwell. Show medical room, up to 2F, show 2F lounge. Through to 2F corridor, into library corridor, show library. Return to 2F corridor, through 2F dining hall and return to entrance hall._

_East Wing_

_Begin in entrance hall 2F. Go downstairs and enter art room (opposite dining room). Through to decorative corridor, through east wing corridor, show bathroom and 1F lounge then through to foyer. Through to east wing stairwell, upstairs to 2F, show main office + locate office bedroom and small lounge. Through to second floor corridor: armour display room, wine room and attic. Through to entrance hall 2F._

_Residence_

_Exit through mansion front entrance. Turn left, follow woodland path across Marble river bridge to Residence Two (Guardhouse). Show directly to room 103._

So the residence was separate from the mansion? It made sense, he supposed. At the end of the day the mansion was technically a research facility, not a big house.

"Here," William said, removing the scrap and handing it to Richard. "It must be Alice's notes about the tour. We can use this to finish up by ourselves."

Richard read over the notes quickly. "Yep. It says how to get back to the entrance hall, too. Well, she left us with _something _useful, at least. Here, you're better with directions than me."

He handed back the note. William scanned through to the directions to the entrance hall.

_Return to 2F corridor, through 2F dining hall and return to entrance hall._

"It says there's a door back to the dining room in that corridor."

"Okay. Uh… which door was that again?"

After accidentally opening up and closing an old storage cupboard, they found their way back to the second floor corridor. There was a door straight to the left, which Richard pushed open.

"Aha. Here we go."

William followed Richard out into the high-ceiling dining hall: the grandfather clock was still ticking, echoing all around the room, and sunlight continued to flood through its many windows.

William leaned over the banister. Below, the huge dining table stretched left and right across the room and above it hung a couple chandeliers on chains, glass bulbs in the sun. He sighed, letting himself lean more heavily on the wooden rail, and closed his eyes for a second.

He was really tired. He'd be quite happy just dropping off to sleep right now….

Richard appeared next to him, a hulking figure leaning over the railing.

"You alright, _Cucciolo_?"

William sighed loudly. "I'm just tired..."

"Didn't you sleep on the train?"

In fact he _had_slept, but only for a short while… maybe an hour or two, no more than that. For most of the early hours he'd been staring up at the ceiling, worrying about what the future held. He'd had difficulty sleeping during the journey from England to America, too, despite having been wide awake for most of the night beforehand. He often had trouble sleeping in enclosed spaces, like trains or planes.

"Not enough, I suppose," he said.

William looked up around the balcony, which lined the room's entire perimeter. There were only two doors: one shortly to the right, and one on the far left. He pointed to the leftmost exit. "I'm pretty sure it's that way…"

On their way to the door William was distracted by an object on one of the shelves lining the nearest wall.

It was some kind of old dagger, probably Medieval, like most of the memorabilia in this place. It was very clean, as if polished regularly, but there were no special features to it. It could have been a ceremonial object: it looked like an antique.

Richard picked it up with three fingers and lifted it to eye level.**  
**  
"Richard!"

"What?" he said, examining the blade. "It's sharp… is it just decoration? It's pretty heavy, too. Possibly steel, but it's probably made of iron… is this _gold_ on the handle?"

"What are you doing? Put it back! It's not yours."

"Alright, alright…" he set it back on the shelf.

One of Richard's favourite things: weapons. Perhaps this fact could seem a little disturbing to someone who didn't know him, but William wasn't bothered by his brother's preference in collectibles. Knives and guns, mostly. Of course, he would never use them to hurt someone, although he did have training in using both, as well as a gun license. That was probably one of the reasons he'd been selected for the job here: he knew how to handle himself in a fight, even against an armed opponent. It certainly wouldn't be the first time…

"Here," Richard said, pushing open one of the double doors at the end of the room. William stepped through, and Richard followed, letting it slam behind them.

They were back in the entrance hall. Around the edges of this room, like the dining hall before it, the second floor was surrounded by banisters. To the right was that strange dark painting which took up a chunk of the wall, and to the left, light shined down from one tall arched window into the airy room. There were two doors set across the opposite wall and—behind Richard and William—the same on this one. There were so many doors in this mansion, surely more than were strictly necessary. Who designed this building? Whoever it was, they were awfully inefficient about it.

"Come on, let's go downstairs," said Richard.

They descended the first set of stairs, which converged with an identical set of ascending steps opposite, at a small landing. The landing was directly in front of the strange wall painting, roughly the size of a large door. Richard carried on down the larger staircase opposite the painting, but William looked up at it.

With the mansion's pervading old-fashioned feel, you generally wouldn't even pay attention to the dark splashes of colour that made up this huge canvas. But if you looked at it properly, examined it carefully straight-on, the colours blended into a scene...

It was a picture of several suited men, standing in a circle in… it was hard to describe the location. Were what looked like grey standing stones were a part of the scenery, but the canvas had been drawn so that the colours were all obscured. It was difficult to scrutinize.

He descended the stairs and caught up with Richard, who was standing in the centre of the room with his arms loosely folded. "Which way now?" Richard asked.

William looked at the notes.

_Begin in entrance hall 2F. Go downstairs and enter art room (opposite dining room)._

He looked to the right: those were the double doors which lead to the dining room. This meant those doors, on the opposite side…

"That way," he said, pointing to the door.

So this was the art room. It couldn't be more different to the wide, bright, warm main hall. This room was dark and shadowy, illuminated poorly by a few white electric lights set around the walls, each set above small sections of the walls which contained picture frames. It wasn't a small room, but somehow the way the shadows gathered in the corners created a claustrophobic air. It was noticeably cooler than anywhere they'd been to so far.

The centre of the room was dominated by a stone statue of a naked woman's upper body, holding up a large pot on her shoulder. It was stood on top of a large upright cylinder of stone. The design probably had Greek influence.

While Richard looked around the room, William approached the statue. At its base was a plaque: "Woman Drawing Water", it read. An uncreative title. Never mind.

He looked up into the statue's face. The statue was very tall, larger than life-size, although again the darkness and design of the room did something strange to its visible dimensions. It was easily too tall to keep the pot within reaching distance, in any case.

The sound of wood scraping at the other side of the room made him look across. Richard had pulled open a chest of drawers in the far left corner, set in front of a red curtain, and was now removing something large and rectangular from the drawer.

"Richard, stop touching things that don't belong to you…"

"Look at this, William," Richard replied. William walked over. It was a painting of the mansion, maybe A3 in size. It was a beautifully crafted work of art.

But the picture was off. William had only seen the mansion during the daytime, but in this art piece, it was the dead of night. . It was a front view of the building, from a perspective outside the front doors. Spindly trees lined the sandy gravel path which led up to the main entrance: Richard and himself had walked up that path on the way to the mansion, but it had been bathed in glistening sunlight. The bright, airy daytime feel of the mansion was contrasted heavily in this piece, which used almost no colour: the mansion's stone walls were painted in white, and the roof bore no more colour than black.

The perspective suggested light coming from the left side of the building—the right half was covered in shadow. The sky, a dark shade of blue, was unlit by moon or stars. By the hand of a genius, this beautiful building had been twisted into a dark, foreboding place. Whoever had drawn this piece truly possessed a gift.

In the bottom right corner, in the shaded area of the picture, a name was stencilled in shimmering silver ink: 'Pablo Luccio.' So this was the name of the talented man who'd crafted such a masterpiece…

Richard nudged William's arm—he looked up. His brother was wearing an amused grin.

"What?" he asked.

Richard just shook his head, still grinning. "You really get into stuff."

William was perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"You have this weird expression when you concentrate. You open your mouth a little bit, and your head starts drooping. If you do it for long enough it looks like you're having a stroke."

William just smiled, and set the painting carefully back into the drawer.

"Come on, let's go," Richard said. "It's freezing in here…"

William would have liked to stay and look at some more paintings… but he'd already kept Richard waiting for far longer than he'd intended to back at the library, so he let himself be led out through the only other door in the room.

William winced slightly as the glare of sunlight hit him: this room marked the return of bright natural lights. It was another hallway, with black-and-white tiled flooring, but the distinct lack of dark wood in the design made the light seem particularly bright here, causing it to reflect easily all around. It shone in from one glimmering window, set into the right wall. A couple of minimalistic display units were lined up along the left wall.

William looked out of the window as they passed. There was nothing special about the view: it was just trees as far as the eye could see, light dappling through their emerald leaves and onto the loamy forest soil. A couple of leaves floated down to the ground, carried gently on a lazy breeze.

"Is it just me, or are most of these rooms completely pointless?" said Richard. "This hallway is literally a waste of time."

William remembered Richard's comment about gratitude for opportunity, but chose not to comment on his blasé hypocrisy. He was probably joking. But he did have a point. It really was starting to feel like this place was built to get lost in, with all its red herrings and endless supplies of corridors.

The hallway turned sharply halfway down, and ended with another door. This lead onto yet another hallway.

"I rest my case," said Richard, with a sigh. They stepped through.

Once again, this room was darker than the previous. William's eyes were starting to hurt, having to adjust to all these different levels of lighting. The only light was coming in from somewhere around the corner ahead, at which there were two doors: one made from wood, straight on, one made from metal on the right wall.

"Well, so much for linearity," Richard lamented. "Oh well. Which way now, navigator?"

The relevant section of Alice's note read:

_Through to decorative corridor, through east wing corridor, show bathroom and 1F lounge then through to foyer._

"So we just came through the decorative corridor… it says there's a bathroom and a lounge in this hallway, then we go through to a foyer."

"Well, let's try that door over there…"

Richard strode over to the wooden door at the end of this short passage, and twisted the handle. It opened, with a noticeable creak. He poked his head around.

"Bathroom," he announced. "There's actually a bath in here, too. Amazing. American's so rarely use such words correctly. Do you need to go?"

"No, I'm fine."

"I do. Won't be a minute."

The door closed behind him, leaving William alone in the hallway.

Finding his way with Richard alone was more fun than it had been with Alice present. He guiltily felt a little relieved that she'd left, even if it had been abrupt. Her tour had felt clinical and superficial, as if they were being guided through a museum, allowed to observe but ultimately explore nothing on their own. It made him feel quite out of place, and did not give any impression of homeliness.

Exploring with Richard alone was much more interesting. Being able to discover things for themselves was fun, and strangely exciting, even if Richard refused to keep his hands off of other people's stuff… well, that was his way, and William knew that he wasn't about to change. Richard was, if anything, quite stubborn.

He wondered who owned this place, anyway. Well, obviously the Umbrella Corporation, but it was called the 'Spencer Mansion', wasn't it? It could be named after the architect who'd designed it, or the actual owner… whoever it was presumably had affiliations with the corporation. Or maybe Umbrella had bought the property separately.

William looked at the door next to him. It was apparently made of sheet metal, with a weird shield-shaped pattern etched into it. He felt a little hesitant to open it on his own; afraid of bumping into some angry stranger without Richard around to protect him… but what was the worst that could happen? He'd have to learn to be independent sometime—before long Richard would be spending his days working, and he wouldn't be there for William all the time then. Opening a _door_should not be hard for a normal human being. So he grasped the handle and pulled it open.

He was surprised by a warm, gentle breeze: the door opened out onto the exterior of the mansion, into a small shaded area which was apparently fenced off. William stepped out. This small area had been separated from the forest outside with tall, metal spike-tipped fencing.

William took a few steps forward and grasped the cold metal fence, and looked out into the picturesque forest. It had to be past midday now, but birds were still twittering in the trees. A light breeze ruffled the leaves; the quiet background noise was oddly soothing.

Something howled in the distance.

William took a step back from the bars, alarmed, and looked around. There was nothing moving amongst the trees. The noise could have been a dog… but what would a dog be doing out in the woods? Were there wolves in Raccoon Forest? It was impossible to tell which direction the sound had come from.

A brief whimpering followed the noise. William recognised the sound. So it _was _a dog…

He suddenly remembered the last section of Alice's tour notes, and looked down at them to double check.

_Residence_

_Exit through mansion front entrance. Turn left, follow woodland path across Marble river bridge to Residence Two (Guardhouse). Show directly to room 103._

He relaxed. The sound had probably come from the guardhouse, their new home, which was somewhere out there in the woods. Maybe a guard dog or something.

He had to stop being so jumpy all the time.

Somewhere out there, his and Richard's new home was nestled among the trees. He wondered how far it was from the mansion.

"William?"

William turned his head as Richard appeared in the doorway. "There you are," he said, putting a hand on William's shoulder. "Why are you out here?"

"No reason… just came to see what was here."

Richard gazed out at the wood. "This really is a beautiful place… we should go for a walk in the woods sometime."

"Okay."

They wandered back inside. "Well, let's see if we can find that lounge," Richard said, carrying on down the hall. William glanced back outside, just as the door closed behind them. He hadn't really thought about it before hearing that howl, but… did they keep dogs here? He supposed it was possible…

Around another corner, past another window, they found another door. Richard opened it. "Oh, look, another pointless room," he said, stepping through.

The room was simply a small square with a door, and lit candles set into rectangular hollows in the walls, which were made from smooth white stone. But there was an interesting quirk: the walls were covered with black and grey drawings of various larger-than-life scenes, which seemed to match the typical Medieval theme of the mansion: farmers, people carrying bags, men riding horses. It was becoming clear that the owner of the Spencer Mansion had quite an enthusiastic taste in historical art.

"Bingo," Richard said, looking through the other doorway.

It looked like they'd found the lounge. It was quite a cosy, relaxed little room, lacking in the excessive furnishing they'd become accustomed to in the mansion: a mantelpiece with typical ornamentation, one black leather couch, a neat and tidy coffee table, and not much else.

"This is a nice room," William said. Richard nodded in agreement.

"Yeah. Nice place to relax. Oh, _hello_…"

Richard took off for the other end of the room quite suddenly. William followed him, more slowly, and asked: "What is it?"

"Look at _this_."

Richard indicated a wooden plaque set into the wall. On the plaque, held up by two metal hooks, was set a sleek brown gun with a long barrel. It looked quite old and well-used, possibly a hunting gun of some sort. Richard lifted it gently off its perch.

"Richard!"

"What? I'm just looking."

A small metallic click from the plaque made William look up quickly: the hooks had shifted eerily into a slightly higher position. Was there some kind of security sensor? _Crap!_

"Put it back!"

Uncharacteristically, Richard ignored him, examining the gun closely. "This is _really_nice… a Winchester, is it? 1890's, looks like… beautiful piece. What do you think?"

"I thinkyou just tripped something when you took it off the holster! Put it _back_, Richard! Please…" oh, god, they were going to get in so much trouble for this…

Richard did so graciously, and the hooks clicked back into place. "Sorry, William. I didn't mean to upset you…"

William sighed. "...You can't touch other people's stuff like that, Richard, you don't know whose it is. This stuff could all be booby-trapped or something, for all you know."

Richard laughed. "Booby-trapped? This is a mansion, _Cucciolo_, not the Temple of Doom." But he put a hand gently on William's shoulder. "But alright. I'll be more careful, if it makes you feel better."

"Okay..."

William suddenly felt like a child in Richard's looming presence, being spoken to so kindly and softly by such a giant of a man. He felt he should feel angry about such behaviour, but was only comforted by it. Richard's methods may annoy some people, but he knew how to keep William happy. He always showed he cared.

They returned to the hallway. "I feel like I know my way around ten times better without Alice dragging us around the place," Richard observed, as the two of them walked down the hall towards the only remaining door.

"Yeah." William agreed, but he didn't feel good about it. Alice really _had_ been trying. He supposed it was just as she'd said: she wasn't much of a tour guide. Her advice had been sound, about learning where not to go… she just hadn't substantiated her claims by actually showing them very much.

Through the double doors, the next room was lit by wall lamps and was quite dark. It was fairly small, and there were three separate doors in the walls to the left and right. Several paintings of smartly-dressed individuals decorated the remaining wall space. This must be the foyer.

"Do you think all these pictures are staff members?" William said.

"Maybe. They could have something to do with the corporation. Or maybe they just belong to the owner. Which door do you want to try?"

Two of the exits—one on the far left and one on the near right—were just ordinary wooden doors. But William wandered over to the third, whose front was stencilled with what seemed to be a golden coat of arms. He recognized the design from the decorations above the dining room's fireplace. Was there something special about this room?

Tentatively, he tried the doorknob. It wouldn't budge: locked.

"Wow… you're really crap at choosing doors." William said nothing.

Richard turned the handle on the adjacent door, which opened with a low creak. "I, on the other hand…"

This looked like the east wing's stairwell: similar in some respects to the stairs at the west wing, there was a door in the nook beside the staircase. Along the staircase proper, which ascended at a right angle, the entire wall was covered with framed photographs.

"Well… someone likes photography," Richard said. "Does that note say anything about this room here?" He gestured to the nearby door. William checked.

_Through to east wing stairwell, upstairs to 2F, show guard's office + locate office/bedroom and small lounge._

"Nope. Can't be anything special, it just says to go straight upstairs."

"Alright, let's do that. Don't want to get lost when we're making such good progress…"

There was a door at the top of the stairs, which turned out to be locked. To the right, down the small hallway and past the banisters, was another door, which was currently ajar.

The room beyond was a small office space which somewhat resembled a library, which was lit by an electric lamp. There was a circular wooden desk opposite the door, cluttered with someone's random possessions. To the left was a shelf of books, which almost divided the room in two. "Must be someone's office," Richard said, disappearing around to the other side of the shelf.

William looked around quickly, nervous about encroaching on someone else's space, when a little glint on the table opposite caught his eye.

He stepped closer and leaned in closer to examine the object. It was a small, sleek silver whistle, polished to a shine, and attached to a little hoop. Maybe a keyring. He picked it up and held it to eye level, examining it closely, and resisted the strange urge to blow into it. It was an ordinary object, but its presence was strange in context. What was something like this doing in a mansion in the middle of the woods?

"Should we be in here?" said William. What if someone walked in, and found the two of them snooping around in someone else's workspace? He didn't want Richard to make a bad first impression, to someone he might have to work with, on his very first day—

"What the hellare you doing in here?"

William froze. The door behind him slammed shut.

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. "I asked you a question!"

Horrified, he stared into the man's face, completely speechless. He was middle aged, not much taller than William, with watery, fiery blue eyes. He was quite unattractive, wearing an old suit and yellowing beige jacket.

"Just who the hellare you?Answer me!_"_

The hand on his shoulder was ripped away quite suddenly, and Richard appeared between the man and himself, grasping the man's wrist firmly. The man froze in surprise.

"Who are you?" said Richard, in tones like glaciers falling.

"_Excuse _me?" replied the man. "Get the hell off of me!"

Richard ignored suddenly he leaned in close, glaring straight into the man's face with undisguised anger.

"Richard…" he said quietly, backing up into the desk. "Don't…"

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" the man continued to bellow, in the face of Richard's blatant seething anger. "Do you know who I am_? _Get your hands off of me or I _swear_you will not live long enough—"

Richard let go quite suddenly, and the man was almost thrown backwards by the momentum of his own struggle. He rubbed his wrist, obviously in pain.

"Richard Belmont," said Richard. "And I don't give a damn who you are. You do _not _touch my brother."

His tone of calm was chilling, more so coming from a man whose aura exuded such fiery rage. The man seemed unaware of this, however. It wasn't clear if he was being extremely brave, or was just a completely oblivious idiot.

"We're just looking around," Richard continued, in the same lead tones. "Our guide left us to it."

"Oh?" said the man. He straightened up, suddenly haughty. "Alice. Incompetent little bitch, always has been." He snorted derisively. "Well, I'm Peter Smith. I'm sure she'll have told you about me. I happen to be one of the higher-ups here. One word from me and you lose your home and your job, so I recommend that you shut the hell up, and get the _hell_ out of my office. Understand?"

Richard grabbed William by the arm and guided him out of the other door, while Peter stood with his arms folded, looking quite angry, yet also pretty happy with himself.

Richard guided William down the hall and round the corner before letting go. He was clearly angry, but was doing well to keep a cool lid on it.

"Christ, what was hisproblem?" he said, trying hard to sound casual, and failing miserably. Gritted teeth and a clenched jaw tended to sap the jocularity out of any statement.

William didn't comment, still in shock from that out-of-the-blue episode. What Richard needed right now was not criticism; he needed to calm down, and the only way that was going to happen was by airing it out and letting it blow over. Uncharacteristically William himself felt quite angry—not about Peter's aggressive demeanour, even, but his rude comment about Alice ignited a spark in William's heart. He recalled her own dismissive remarks about Mr Smith… was there bad blood between these two? "Well… now we know what Alice was talking about," he said, tentatively, hoping to alleviate and not feed Richard's anger.

Richard's narrow gaze unfurled into a look of confusion. "She mentioned him earlier," William explained, glad for the unexpected segue. This was unusual: typically he wasn't much of a conversationalist. "Peter. She said nobody likes him much."

Richard snorted derisively. "Can't imagine why." He crossed his arms, a comfortable habit to fall into in this time of stress.

William smiled gently. "Forget about it, Richard. He didn't do anything, really… I'm fine."

Richard's posture eased at this, which William was glad for, although he felt bad for the lie. In fact he'd felt very intimidated indeed, despite knowing full-well that the man who'd grabbed his shoulder was physically quite pathetic. Something about authority figures had a tendency to rattle him.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Richard acquiesced. "Sorry for getting so worked up. I can't believe he laid his _hands _on you…"

"Honestly, it's fine. I won't be standing around in other people's offices again anytime soon, so it won't happen again."

Richard shifted slightly, uncomfortably. "Sorry. I should listen when you tell me not to touch other people's stuff."

"Yes you should, but never mind… that was an argument started by a man with an attitude problem, not a fight instigated by you."

Richard grinned; back to his old self, and clapped an arm over his shoulders. "Let's get out of here before we run into that bastard again."

William actually felt quite shaken, but he clutched the folder hard in both hands to stop himself from shuddering. He read over the relevant section of Alice's notes to calm himself down.

_Through to second floor corridor: armour display room, wine room and attic. Through to entrance hall 2F._

"Oh, we're nearly done," he said. While he felt quite relieved that there was virtually no chance of running into Peter again tonight, he was a little disappointed: his time exploring with Richard was coming to a close. He tried not to look too disappointed about it.

He turned to the nearest doors—a pair of green double doors, set solitary into the wall—and tried the handle. It wouldn't budge. For some reason he found himself focusing on the doorknob once he'd let go of it, and noticed something interesting.

Onto the doorknob a little symbol was engraved: it looked like a suit of medieval armour. Strange… he wondered what it meant.

"You really know how to pick them, _Cucciolo." _Richard merely grinned in the face of his glare. Richard tried another door further round the corner, which opened quite easily. Richard quirked an eyebrow, which William ignored, pushing through ahead of him.

It wasn't an interesting room—just a side corridor. The lack of windows once again made it quite dark, lit only by a flickering wall-mounted lamp, with a support pillar set right in the middle.

"More useless rooms…"

Around the corner, at the other end, was another door. It led to a further corridor, which was also grimly lit by a flickering lamp. Opposite was a short set of stairs with a door at the top: to the left, a narrow passage which led to another room.

"I doubt there's anyone around here, William," Richard said. "Which way do you want to go?"

William climbed the creaking stairs, and was about to turn the door handle when something caught his eye, etched into the pretty metal. Interested, he knelt down to examine it.

It was an engraving of a shield, neatly cut into the front of the handle. This was the second little symbol he'd spotted… he hadn't noticed any on the other doors. But then again, he hadn't been focusing on the handles. What could these neat little engravings indicate?

He stood back up and tried the handle. Locked. He really was quite bad at selecting doors…

It suddenly occurred to him how silent it was. He turned around quickly.

"Richard?"

Panicking slightly, he dropped the mask back down and walked quite quickly out of the room.

"Richard, where are you?" he called.

"Right here."

Richard appeared from around the corridor corner. William released his bated breath. "I thought you were behind me…"

"I thought you were behind _me. _Sorry. What's up the stairs?"

"Don't know, the door's locked. Did you go through the other door?"

Richard nodded. "Little room with a table, few chairs, a couple of shelves full of wine. Nothing special. Anyway, let's head back."

They returned the main hallway: the door at the end of the hall was blissfully unbarred. It opened out onto the main hall's second floor.

"Ah… back again," Richard said.

Well, they'd had an… _interesting_encounter with a stranger, and missed out on one or two of the places Alice had written down, but never mind. There would be plenty of time to scope them out in their own time, and hopefully they wouldn't encounter Mr Smith for a long while. William had to suppress another yawn as a wave of tiredness rolled back over him, kick-starting his exhaustion after that unexpected adrenaline rush. He found himself leaning on Richard, who looked down at him softly, worry faintly visible on his face.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

William sighed, closing his eyes. "It's the lack of sleep. How are you not tired?" he said, rubbing an eye.

"I slept on the train, remember?"

As they walked slowly downstairs, William's eye was caught once more by the painting on the lower landing. Richard carried on going down, but William found himself stopping to scrutinize it once again. He once again tried to interpret the scene depicted by the strangely fuzzy artwork. He analysed the dark patterns, the clever way the artist had provoked depth through use of colour, the weird tablet-shaped rocks…

Hold on…

At first, it just looked like clever shading or a trick of the light. But there was a tall rectangular projection disguised within the painting, strangely difficult to spot in bright daylight, although once noticed, its presence was quite obvious. It was roughly the size of a door.

William looked down to the centre-left of the rectangle. There was a doorknob, shockingly well-disguised: he had to take hold of it to ensure that it wasn't just ingenious three-dimensional artwork. This mansion kept getting weirder and weirder…

He tried to twist it, but it just clicked and wouldn't turn. Locked. A secret locked door, hidden in plain sight… you might believe that someone was trying to hide something here. What was _up_with this place?

William rubbed his eyes. He must be overtired. Suddenly he was being paranoid for no apparent reason. He descended the stairs and caught up with Richard in the middle of the room.

"So—where to now?" Richard asked.

And then the mansion's front doors slammed open, and floods of people barged in.

Voices, everywhere—

"_Well, that was—"_

_"Can't believe they wasted my time like—"_

"God, this is such a joke—"

"Hey, do you wanna grab a coffee before—"

"Actually, I'm heading for the office—"

"_Have you seen Pete? I need to talk to him—"_

"Why, exactly, do we have to deal with—"

The din swallowed them instantly, suffocating—panicking, William tried to step closer to Richard but someone barged between them and they were separated—people were flowing out into the dining hall, accidentally dragging William along with them—he reached out desperately—

"Richard—"

Their voices were endless, droning. The scene took on a blood-red tinge a started to pulsate horribly, in perfect sync with his rapidly escalating heartbeat. He shrank away, breathless, and fell to his knees, but there must be hundreds of people_,_ and there was Richard, shoving someone out of the way but ten more people stepped between them and he was gone from sight again and the cacophony was getting louder and louder, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, where who what when _get out of my head_ _close your eyes close your eyes_—

Darkness.


	5. The Other Residence

Chapter Four

The Other Residence

March 25th, 1998

Late evening

William opened his eyes, slowly, to the glare of a bright light.

He shielded his eyes. Was this the hospital? But no, that couldn't be right. He'd been in the mansion…

He sat up suddenly, and a rush of blood to the head knocked him down again. Panicking slightly, he looked around quickly.

He'd seen this room before. It was only a brief glance, but he recognised the shelves: one was full of cardboard boxes, and the other lined with various medicine bottles on its upper shelves, and little drawers along the bottom. William noticed that, directly across from him, there was a wooden unit on which one of these bottles had been placed.

This was the medical room. Alice had briefly shown this room to Richard and himself during the tour. He was lying on the bed, on top of its crisp white sheets.

He sat up again, slowly this time, and swung his legs over the side. The room was completely silent. He noticed that his hoodie had been removed: it was draped over the back of a nearby chair, leaving him in just a plain brown t-shirt. It was a bit cold. What time was it?

What was he doing here…?

A memory hit him. There'd been a flood of people… what happened after that? He and Richard had been separated…

Richard!

Where was he?

He looked around, and his gaze fell back on the bottle set at the foot of the bed. He shuffled over and picked it up. It was a dark-brown plastic bottle half-full of pills, but was, curiously, unlabelled.

The lid was on, but it wasn't twisted down. He removed it and tipped a couple of capsules into his palm. They were plain white, nothing special about them. He rubbed one between two fingers—white powder rubbed off onto his fingertips. Dissolvable. There was an empty glass on the stand, too. Had he been given some of these while he was asleep?

He wiped his fingers on the bedspread, and had just tipped the pills back into the bottle and set it on the stand as the door creaked open. A man poked his head around.

"William? Are you feeling alright?"

It wasn't Richard. It was another man, maybe in his twenties. He was plain, with light brown hair and eyes, an unremarkable complexion, somewhat slim, somewhat tall. He stepped across the threshold and approached the bed. William drew his knees up instinctively and shied back against the wall. Not strangers, not now…

The man stopped advancing and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Whoa, it's okay. Your brother just stepped outside for a minute, don't worry."

The man sat down in the nearby chair. "My name's Robert Dowling, I'm the resident medic here. Do you remember what happened, William?"

He didn't remember clearly, and had no idea how he'd ended up here. He didn't say anything. He wanted Richard.

"William? It's okay, I'm a certified doctor. You can talk to me."

A memory flashed: he recalled the huge crowd of people suddenly pouring into the main hall. The memory seemed bizarre now that he was thinking clearly. He could remember seeing so many people pouring into the room that it had felt more like a huge shopping centre than a mansion entryway. The scene had been throbbing like a heartbeat, and tinged unnatural red. It was obviously some kind of hallucination...

After a few seconds of silence Robert seemed to get the message. "Okay, William. Don't worry. I'll go get your brother." He scraped back the chair and left the room. William was glad to be alone again.

William had been afraid something like this might happen, but he had not expected it in the least on his first day.

William did not deal well with crowds—especially strangers. The problem had been considerably worse when he was a child—he used to cry during every break at school, distressed by the crowds of screaming children around him, and would often hide away in the toilet room. Richard had managed to alleviate some of his distress through near-constant companionship outside of school, and now William was capable of walking down the street without feeling too uncomfortable or scared. But in huge crowds, without Richard nearby… panic attacks were a distressingly prominent possibility under these circumstances.

Relief overwhelmed him as Richard stepped in, striding straight over to the bed in two swift steps and sitting down next to him. The doctor was absent. He must have gotten the message.

Richard put a comforting arm around his shoulders, and gently touched his forehead with the back of the other hand. "Are you alright?"

William allowed himself to be held up, falling limp in Richard's grasp. "What happened?"

"You had a panic attack… you blacked out, _Cucciolo_."

Ah.

William closed his eyes. "It was all those people, it just surprised me…"

"I know, you don't need to explain."

William sighed. "How long was I unconscious?"

"…Seven, eight hours, maybe?"

He was surprised. "That long? It doesn't feel like it..."

"A knocking out isn't the same as sleeping, you know."

William smiled slightly, sitting up straight again. Richard removed his arm gently and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to sleep?"

William shook his head. "No, I'm alright. I'm really sorry, Richard…"

More than scared, he felt ashamed. He was embarrassed, but that almost paled in the face of the other issue…

On the first day of their new life he'd already had a panic attack and a blackout, immediately placing his own burdens directly on Richard's shoulders. Richard hadn't even started work yet… how would he manage, having to worry about William's well-being all the time? After this episode, he wasn't going to want to leave him on his own… he knew what Richard was like.

Richard just shook his head. "It's not your fault, _Cucciolo_."

William sighed, and in the motion, caught sight of the pill bottle in the corner of his eye. "Richard—" he began to ask, but he was cut off by a knock on the door.

Someone opened it. A man stepped through and leaned against the frame.

He couldn't have been older than twenty-five. He was very good-looking, with jet-black hair hanging in loose locks around a handsome, open face. He was noticeably tanned and, although not quite reaching Richard's proportions, tall and clearly well-muscled. He had his hands in his neat trouser pockets, and his shirt was untucked and unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves loosely rolled up to the elbows. Over the top he was wearing a sleeveless black jacket, an outfit akin to a policeman's uniform.

A utility belt was fastened around his waist, again reminiscent of a policeman. Among other things around the belt, a gun was holstered to Scott's side. The sight sent a little chill through William, and he deliberately did not focus his gaze on it, so as not to draw attention to that fact. This must be one of the security guys, but… when on earth would a gun be necessary in a place like this?

"Hey, buddy. How you doing?"

Once again, it was odd to hear the American accent, this time from a man. He had a pleasant, friendly voice, and spoke kindly.

"I'm okay…" He spoke, depressingly aware of how nervous he was. It showed in his voice. After that episode he didn't feel comfortable meeting someone new… least of all someone like this—confident, good-looking, and a figure of authority, all features which gave William a hard time with communication.

"Thanks for your help, Scott," Richard said, reverting to his slightly gruff demeanour. Noticeably, however, his ordinarily monotone contained clear gratitude. Scott walked over and knelt before William, holding out a hand to shake.

"I'm Scott Sheldon," he said, as William took the proffered hand. Scott shook it despite William's lax grip, unfazed. "I'm one of the guards. It's good to finally meet you, William."

"Scott helped when you collapsed," Richard explained. "He showed me where to bring you."

"Yeah, Alice showed you around here earlier, right? I haven't seen her all day, I thought she was showing you around. Why wasn't she with you, anyway?"

"She left halfway through the tour," Richard explained. "She just gave us that folder and ran off." He gestured to a large chest on the other side of the room: the file was set on top of it.

"Huh. Well, she's not normally like that. Weird." Scott shrugged. "Oh well. Here, you guys are living in the guardhouse, right? I'm on patrol so I can show you up there now. I'll tell Rob where you went later—that is, if you're okay to walk, William?"

"I can carry you if you want," Richard offered.

"It's okay, I'll be fine."

He stood up, unsteadily, and leant on Richard for balance. "I'm fine," he said, when Scott started getting ready to catch him. He felt shaky, but he didn't feel like he was about to keel over, which was probably a good sign. Besides, he could do without being grabbed by strangers for the time being. Crisis averted… sort of.

"Okay then," said Scott brightly, clapping his hands together. "We'll get you straight to bed once we get there, it's not too far."

"It's only a few minutes through the woods, isn't it?" Richard asked.

"That's right. Well, let's get going."

* * *

Scott went first into the dining room, followed by Richard and William. William grabbed the back of Richard's jumper lightly upon entry: there were a couple of men sitting opposite each other at the dining table, talking quietly over dinner. They looked up briefly when the door closed, but their gaze didn't linger: they return to their talking and dining quickly.

William felt suddenly embarrassed. Had these people seen him collapse? How many _had _been there to watch? He recalled tens of people, maybe even approaching a hundred, but thinking clearly, that was obviously impossible. It was just part of the panic attack. All the same, he hoped there hadn't been many witnesses…

William looked across at the windows and was surprised that outside, the forest was black as night. It was night-time, or maybe late evening. The room looked grossly different in the darkness: it was lit by candlelight, which cast a pretty orange glow all over the room, and the fireplace was also lit. The sultry glow enhanced the room's Victorian feel quite significantly: suddenly it really did feel like they'd stepped through a window in time.

"Do you want some dinner, actually?" Scott asked as they approached the ticking grandfather clock, turning to William. "I can get something cooked up for you…"

"I'm not hungry…" he wasn't, particularly, but he would have eaten if he'd been able to do it alone, or with Richard alone for company. He didn't feel even close to ready to dine surrounded by strangers.

"Yeah, nor am I," said Richard. William hid his secret relief. This day had gone on forever… suddenly he just really wanted to spend some time with Richard, alone.

He looked at the grandfather clock briefly before they swept past: 9:17. It was quite late. He really _had _been out of it…

The entrance hall was also significantly darker now than it had been during the day. All the candles had been lit… they must go through candles like crazy in this place, if they lit them all every night like this. The corners of the room, where candlelight couldn't reach, were draped in shadow. The chandelier was strangely unlit despite the darkness. Scott led them to the main doors.

"Well, now you've seen the mansion," he said, throwing one of the doors wide. "The guardhouse is in the woods. It's only like five, ten minutes away, it's not far." The doors closed behind them.

An ominous breeze rustled through the forest. The mansion was set in an expansive clearing, and the clearing was bathed in moonlight, crossed by the shadows of night-time clouds. Light couldn't entirely breach the tree-line: the woods beyond were bathed in darkness. William folded his arms, bunching his shoulders against the chill evening air.

Somewhere out between the trees, and owl hooted a few notes: the birds of daytime were sleeping now. In the distance, something howled.

They were standing in a long square of light cast onto the ground by the main hall's upper window: each of their shadows stretched out into the forest shade, but were incomplete, decapitated by the darkness. "The forest is kind of creepy at night, right?" Scott said, rolling down his sleeves and putting his hands in his pockets. Richard had also folded his arms tightly around himself. It was cold. William shuffled a little closer to him.

Scott led them a little ways down the gravel path. "Like I said, it's not much of a walk. We'll be there in a few minutes."

The path led through the trees and disappeared into darkness, but Scott stopped walking about halfway down it. He looked around quickly, apparently to orientate himself.

William turned around to look back at the mansion.

It was a haunting image, cast in moonlight. The mansion's white stone walls looked like bone or ivory in the pale light of the moon. Shadows were deepened and lengthened, and its brightly-lit windows gave the impression of haphazard eyes, glaring out into the darkness. The doors looked like gritted teeth. You'd almost expect lightning to split the black and star-lit sky that framed it.

"William."

He turned around. Richard and Scott were standing over near the tree line. Embarrassed by his reverie he hurried over, and they all ducked into the bracken.

Scott pulled a torch from his belt and flicked it on, slicing through the darkness with a beam of light. He pointed it at the ground ahead: a path of trampled earth and bracken twisted its way through the tightly-packed trees, lined on both sides by low old wooden fences. "They still haven't built a proper path to the guardhouse yet," he explained. "Bad budgeting, I suppose. It can be pretty hard to find if you don't know where you're going."

Not able to afford a gravel path, but perfectly capable of throwing away thousands of dollars to summon a foreign security guard?

The path curved around several times to weave between the trees, and climbed gently. William walked close to Richard, who put an arm over his shoulders. His warmth was comforting in the cold darkness. Something in the branches above shuffled the leaves and he jerked in alarm. Richard didn't react, though. "Just a bird," Scott assured, as he led the way through the trees. William looked up at the obscured branches. In the darkness, they stuck out at odd angles, like twisted knives pointing skyward.

Something howled again, somewhere far off in the darkness. Nobody mentioned it. They just followed the torchlight.

The forest was largely quiet, but the general lack of sound only served to amplify every noise that filled it. William hunch his shoulders against the cold as they drudged through the trees in a curved path.

After several minutes, a slight rushing sound became apparent over the faint chorus of gently rustling leaves. It sounded like… running water…

Unexpectedly they breached the treeline, into an odd wide opening in the trees which stretched far to the left and right. The sound of rushing was louder here, accompanied by a discordant gentle trickling. At first, it wasn't clear where the noise was coming from… until William took a few steps forward, and looked down.

There was a small gorge maybe twenty feet across, cutting the treeline neatly in two. Flowing steadily through it, not too fast but not especially slow, was a river. The water level was unusually high, only a couple of feet below the lip of the gorge. It was probably a natural river—in the moonlight it looked black or dark blue, glistening only slightly, but in the circle of Scott's torchlight the flowing water was coloured a silty brown. There were a few leaves and branches floating slowly on the surface. He followed their motion, floating from west to east.

Scott raised the light. "There it is," he said, pointing it up across the gorge.

There was a little one-storey house on the opposite side, which was elevated several feet above the land they were standing on. Its faint outline was visible in the low light, but three windows, all on the face of the house, were illuminated yellow. It was a pleasant little building, strongly resembling an old-fashioned bungalow, which was probably an accurate description.

William felt a wash of relief: the woodland portion of their journey was over, at least. Relief was finally in sight.

"It's pretty cosy inside. I don't live there, I commute from the city, but Alias does. He's the other guard."

"Yeah, we've met," Richard said.

"Oh, really? When did you meet him?"

"When Alice was with us."

"Really?" Scott sounded strangely surprised, although his expression was invisible in the shadows. "That's weird… well, whatever. Let's head over."

Scott panned the torch beam to the right, to a small bridge which spanned the gorge. It was made of wooden planks and rope edges, a rustic design. It looked very old, and somewhat unstable.

Scott seemed to sense his discomfort. "It's totally safe. Alias maintains the bridge, but it hasn't needed much work even since _he_first started working here. Trust me, people cross this thing almost every day."

Indeed, stepping on the bridge, it didn't _feel _dangerous. Even bearing weight of all three of them, its state didn't change. It seemed to be safe to cross.

William looked out over the river as they crossed the bridge. It was impossible to tell how far it spanned in this darkness: after several meters it disappeared into shadow. Judging by its reasonable width, though, it wasn't a small river. It might stretch for miles through the forest.

A small set of stone steps at the other end of the bridge led them up to the slightly higher side of the gorge. This side of the river bore a small clearing in the trees: a dirt path led in a tight arc around to the opposite side of the house.

The entrance was around the back of the house, at the end of the path. A slatted wooden blind covered the door's window, little blades of light shone between the cracks from within. The doorway was lit by a pleasant little lamp set high into the wall: moths buzzed around it, bashing their papery little bodies against the glass.

"Here we are," Scott announced, drawing a key from one of his belt's many little pocket bags and unlocking the door.

The guardhouse interior was plain and pleasant. Its design was seemingly based on architecture from the 19th or early 20th century: dark wood panelling and contrasting lighter-coloured walls abounded. The opened out onto a short hallway matching this design, lit by a shaded bulb from the ceiling. There was a window at the other end, whose old-fashioned curtains were currently tied open, exposing a shadowy view of the river and the forest beyond it. A little table was set before the window, with a vibrantly-coloured potted plant set on top. Scott led them to the nearest door: there were two more doors further down the hall, opposite one another, flanking the window and flowerpot.

Scott saw William looking. "That's Alias' room," he explained. "The other door's just a cupboard."

The door led onto another hallway. There were four doors here, two on each side, and another window across the hall, whose curtains were closed. "Two of the researchers live there, in room 102." Indeed, a small bronze plate proclaimed the room to be number 102. Beneath the plate, a small copper crucifix had been hung from a nail. The resident must be Catholic.

"Steve and Eric. Steve's pretty quiet, he spends most of his time at work, doesn't really talk to anyone. Eric's usually just locks himself in the office—that's the door opposite their room. He's pretty private about his work. Don't worry about them, they're not important to you."

"The door opposite your room is the kitchen, by the way, check it out in your own time. Here we are: your bedroom." Scott pushed open the far left door—the plaque read '103'—and gestured for them to enter.

William was surprised by how nice the room was. To the right there were two beds, set next to each other, both set partially beneath the room's single window. Each bed had an identical dark-wooden nightstand next to it, each with a single drawer and a lamp set on top. A large, oblong wooden chest was set at the foot of the farthest bed. There was a door—marked 'Bathroom'—on the far right wall. Three guesses what was in there.

William's gaze panned left: a set of shelves was set into the wall next to one of the beds, currently bare, and along the adjacent wall was an expensive-looking desk with several drawers, on which yet another lamp was set. The décor and design were distinctly minimalist and old-fashioned. A cushioned chair was tucked beneath it. There was another shelf next to the desk. The walls were painted a nice plain shade of beige, criss-crossed with dark wooden framing: this seemed to be a theme in the guardhouse's design. A shaded light hung from the ceiling.

"You have to share, I'm afraid," Scott said, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry. We're pretty tight on space."

"It's fine," Richard said, looking around. William nodded in affirmation, stepping further into the room, nervous. He turned around to observe a chest of drawers tucked behind the open door, with a huge wood wardrobe next to it. The coat of arms he'd seen a couple of times before was engraved beautifully onto both of its doors.

"You like it?" asked a grinning Scott.

"It's great," Richard said, with feeling. Scott nodded. "And you, William?"

"I really like it," he said, slightly nervously.

"That's good." Scott was still grinning. "Oh, you're suitcases are under your beds, by the way. I brought them over from the train."

"Thanks, Scott," Richard said.

"No problem. Well, I'm still technically on patrol so I gotta go. I'll come pick you up for work in the morning. You have your schedule?"

"Uh…"

"Should be in the folder."

"Oh. Right. I put it in your bag, William. When you were asleep. Hope you don't mind."

William unlatched the clip and folded open his satchel. He pulled out the file—but no; this brown folder belonged to William himself. He dropped it back inside. Ah, the other file was slotted in front of it: he pulled it out and held it up to them.

"Get some sleep, you guys. See you tomorrow, Richard. Catch you later, William!" And he left, leaving the door to shut behind him.

For a few moments the Belmont brothers stood in silence, gazing around at their new room, absorbing the fact that at last they had arrived at their new home. William felt more comfortable now, with just Richard and himself alone together. He preferred it this way.

"So… which bed do you want, William?"

He considered. He didn't really mind. "Let's just take the ones our suitcases are under."

Richard nodded, and dropped to his knees beside the nearest bed. He reached under and pulled out a large suitcase. "This one's mine. So the other one's yours, then."

William sat down on his own bed. The mattress was soft and firm, and its patterned brown sheets—he ran his hands over them—felt smooth and clean. Identical to Richard's bed, it had two thick pillows.

He pulled the lamp chord: it illuminated brightly. It was nice to finally be alone with Richard again. He could feel the tension easing itself from his mind and body as he ran his fingertips gently across the sheets. Today hadn't quite gone the way he'd been hoping… but it had ended fine, and that was good enough for him.

Richard sighed loudly and opened his suitcase; unfolded clothes exploded out onto the floor. William smiled at Richard's disorganisation: he tried to imagine a neat and tidy older brother, and found this task to be completely impossible. Richard had probably been born throwing clothes around.

Yet another difference between the two of them. Richard could make himself at home anywhere—he'd walked straight through the door and claimed this as his territory. But it could take forever for William to adjust.

"If you're going to unpack, at least put your clothes in the wardrobe, Richard."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Richard swept up the clothes and waltzed over to the wardrobe. After a certain amount of scrabbling with one hand he managed to pull it open. He dumped the clothes unceremoniously inside, in one big pile.

Slamming the door closed, he wiped his hands together with satisfaction. At the sight of William's deadpanned expression, he stopped. "What?"

William just shook his head and shrugged off his bag. He lay back onto his comfortable pillows.

He felt so strange. Feelings of nervousness, excitement, anxiousness and a certain amount of fear mixed together to form the most unusual blend of emotions he'd ever experienced. He stared up at the ceiling, and tried to imagine waking up to the same sight every day for who knew how long. It was an impossible scenario to picture.

"Get some rest, _Cucciolo. _I'm going for a shower."

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open and slamming shut began a moment of silence.

William stared up at the ceiling. So, finally, this day was over. Their new existence was about to begin. He had a nagging feeling that he should be more excited than he actually was, though. In his head, such an opportunity as this should be akin to Christmas or maybe a really good birthday, but all he felt was a sense of mild delirious happiness, and a strange hollow.

The hollow in his heart was what worried him. He felt like he should be more at peace with these circumstances. He couldn't shrug the inexplicable feeling that during their journey, he'd lost something vitally important. Arriving at the mansion and beginning their new life felt like it was filling over the hole, rather than filling it up.

The sound of the shower running next door broke him from this reverie. Mind exhausted, William closed his eyes.

* * *

He opened them again a while later. He glanced at his watch: 10:27. He'd been dozing for maybe half an hour.

He lifted his head to glance around the room again, at all its simple furnishings, and tried thinking: _this belongs to me_. It felt like a hotel room, or what he imagined a hotel room would feel like: cosy, comfortable, but not quite possessing that all-important touch of home. But this space _was _home now. His and Richard's home. And he felt determined to make it a good one.

He clutched the folder more tightly to this test. This paper card wallet contained all the knowledge they needed to begin a bright new future. He held it up high above his face, and stared at it for a long while. Suddenly it felt strangely precious, as if it was an object which should be treated with respect or reverie.

Richard sat down on the bed beside him, fully washed and clad in a pair of boxer shorts and a loose grey T-shirt, and took the folder from his hands. "Why so grim, _Cucciolo_?"

"I'm not… I just feel weird, that's all."

Richard looked concerned. "You don't like the room?"

"No, it's really nice," William said, sitting up. This was completely true. It was a really lovely place in the middle of a very lovely wood, right next to an incredible mansion, full of places to explore. A dream home.

But that was just it. It _was _a dream home… to William, it felt like there was no place in reality for something so perfect. He couldn't help feeling that there had to be a catch.

He checked his watch: 9:45. Nine hours of unconsciousness wasn't quite a substitute for sleep, it was true—he was still pretty tired. However he didn't feel like he was about to collapse from exhaustion any more—he felt awake enough to sort through the files Alice had given, before going to bed. Sooner or later, one of them would have to.

…Going to bed, under these strange new covers. Even _that _thought was bizarre.

"Richard, can I have the folder, please?"

Richard handed it to him. "Do you want to look it over? We can do it at the desk."

"Okay."

Richard pulled out the desk chair for him, and he took the seat, running his palms over the desk. The wooden surface was polished and smooth. Richard himself leant on it casually.

William flipped open the folder and turned it over, spreading all the papers inside out onto the desk at once.

Two metal objects chinked onto the table: a pair of identical keys with a keyring on each, each with a red tag, reading '103'.

"How kind," Richard said. "Well, this space is our own, at least."

William picked up the key and twisted it between his fingers, watching little lights play off its reflective silver surface. He ran a finger gently down its jagged teeth. So this was the symbol of ownership; the key which would unlock their new life, and bar it against those who deserved no place in it. This key represented sanctuary. He pocketed it graciously.

Richard did the same with his, and picked up one of the papers while William scanned the remaining sheets in front of him. Most of them were various parts of the Umbrella Corporation's confidentiality agreement, which was long and apparently convoluted. A light-green piece of paper was Richard's half of his employment contract. There was a small handbook describing Richard's duties as a member of the security team… nothing especially interesting about that. And there was another copy of Dr Birkin's welcome letter, which had probably been included as protocol.

"Hey. Want to see my schedule?"

Richard placed his piece of paper on the desk in front of William and grabbed the security handbook. William picked up the sheet and read it over carefully.

_MR R BELMONT  
SCHEDULE OF WORK [WEEKLY]  
_

_NOTES:_

_Sign in/out of work each day at East Wing main office (2F)_

_Your designated off-day is SUNDAY.  
_

_Monday, Wednesday, Friday_

_8am: Begin patrol shifts_

_8-9.30am: East Wing (exterior)_

_9.30-11am: West Wing (exterior)_

_11am-12.30pm: Front Entrance_

_12.30-1.30pm: Lunch hour_

_1.30-3.00pm: West Wing (upper floors)_

_3.00-4.30pm: East Wing (upper floors)_

_4.30-6.30pm: Spencer Office_

_6.30-7.30pm: Dinner hour_

_7.30-8.30pm: Courtyard_

_Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday_

_2pm: Begin patrol shifts_

_2-3.30pm: West Wing (lower floors)_

_3.30-5.00pm: East Wing (lower floors)_

_5-6.30pm: Courtyard_

_6.30-7.30pm: Dinner hour_

_7.30-9.00pm: Front Entrance_

_9-10.30pm: East Wing (exterior)_

_10.30pm-12.00am: West Wing (exterior)_

_12.00-1.30am: Residence_

_1.30-2.30am: Woods_

"What day is it today?" William asked.

"Wednesday, so it's Thursday tomorrow."

William examined the times carefully. "Richard, these are really long hours… you're working twelve and a half hours a day, that's ridiculous."

Richard just shrugged. "Oh well. There's probably nothing better to do around here, anyway. Besides, it's not exactly going to be a physically demanding job, is it? Probably just a lot of sitting around."

William looked again. "The way this is arranged, you only get about five hours to sleep at night for three days of the week…"

And he'd probably have to catch up on sleep during the times he wasn't working… but he did start at 2pm for half his workdays, including tomorrow, meaning that William could see him off. That was something, at least.

Still, William was disappointed that Richard had to work such long hours. There wouldn't be much time to spend together any more…

"Do you think if you get promoted your hours will change?"

Richard just shrugged. "No idea. But its better like this than it was back home, right? I'm not too bothered about making a career out of this, to be honest."

Better for William, maybe. But this meant spending very little time with Richard. He felt a pang of disappointment, for both himself and his brother. If he were in Richard's position, he'd be gutted by the amount of work required by this job. Out of the frying pan, and…

"Don't worry, _Cucciolo._It'll be fine."

William smiled. He remembered something. "Oh, Richard… can I have my books?"

"Course. Here, which one do you want?"

"I'll just take them all, thanks."

Richard threw him the backpack, which knocked him onto his back. Ignoring Richard's laughter he sat up and unzipped the bag, then pulled out all the books at once, spreading them out on the bed. Within twenty seconds he'd separated them into piles according to type of book: novel, play, poetry, textbook, anything else.

He might as well put them away. He piled them all up and carried them over to the shelf by the door, next to the desk, and slid them all onto the shelf in one neat motion, ensuring that they were all pushed right to the back. He placed his hands on his hips and analysed the arrangement critically. Everything seemed to be in order… satisfied, he nodded briskly.

He slipped just one of the books back off of the shelf: 'Great Expectations'. It had a pretty forest-green cover, which depicted a drawing of Pip, the protagonist who would rise from the ashes of a troubled home, and become a respectable and well-rounded man throughout the course of the novel. It was one of his favourites, for many reasons.

"I'm going to check out the kitchen, I'm starving," Richard said, as William made his way back to his own bed. "Want to come?"

"No thanks."

Richard disappeared out the door, and William returned to bed and got to reading his book.

After a few minutes, though, he folded the corner of his page and laid it down on his bedside unit. He suddenly didn't feel very sleepy anymore… maybe he'd feel more at home here if he actually did something to make it a little more homely. His gaze fell on the wardrobe. Like putting his things away, for example.

Sometimes he blamed himself a little for his own insecurities. His thoughts pirouetted back to day's unexpected turn of events. He was disguising it, but he felt ashamed of his attack, and the sense of responsibility it was bound to solidify in Richard. He really wished he was stronger…

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. What was he doing? He could sit around all day complaining about feeling dissatisfied, but how often did he actually do anything about it? He could do something about it now. Encouraged by these thoughts, and satisfied by the thought of having a good book to come back to once his mission was complete, he set to work.

First things first: clean up Richard's mess. He strode over to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. Sure enough, Richard's clothes were all piled in a large heap at the bottom of the cupboard.

The coat rack was lined with a great many wooden clothes hangers. William removed a large chunk of them, and dropped them to the floor, then sat down next to them and started removing Richard's clothes from the pile.

Richard was a big fan of jumpers, especially woollen ones, and _especially_ turtlenecks. He had every right to be; they looked good on him. Black, white, maroon, grey and blue jumpers matching this description were all deftly woven onto their destined hangers. This reduced the size of the pile considerably.

Next came T-shirts and long-sleeved shirts. Richard's preference for short sleeves was white—simple, looks professional—or black—goes with anything, always a fine choice. Cheap to buy, too, a factor which had always been important in their household. A few of each found their way onto their own hangers. His long-sleeved shirts were generally of dark colours. They, too, were filed neatly away and hung out to de-wrinkle themselves. There were also a couple of large grey cardigans, which also went on hangers.

William found this mundane task strangely comforting. Tidying up had been a good idea: the place was already feeling more homely, now that he'd applied his own little touch to it. He glanced over at the shelf, satisfied by the small row of books which he'd chosen to borrow. Any room of William's required a good bookshelf.

The clothes pile now consisted, mostly, of jeans, socks, undershirts and underwear. William separated out the underwear into its own pile, and did the same with the socks. Sadly, they hadn't been stored in pairs, so it would be a bit of a task pairing them up. He decided he wasn't _that_bored, so he just shoved them all into the drawers and started folding up Richard's undershirts into another little pile, which he did the same with.

Finally, the jeans. Richard was also a big fan of jeans—as legwear, he wore them almost exclusively. Every pair was a slightly different shade of dark green. The hangers didn't cater for legwear, so William was forced to fold them into another, separate pile.

That left only a couple of clothing articles remaining. One was Richard's trenchcoat. It was a huge, long piece of clothing, black as night, with several pockets, and was probably Richard's favourite piece of clothing overall. William hung it up on a hanger with some difficulty—the heavy fabric was difficult for him to hold up. He wondered how Richard managed to wear it all the time.

Finally, Richard's thick scarf. It was grey and woven, forming neat and pretty patterns. It was also very thick, and served as valuable protective wear back in England, where winters were often freezing and meteorologically harsh. He folded it gently: it had been a gift to Richard from William himself for Christmas one year, and William knew that his brother cherished it dearly.

Six shelves were set down the left side of the wardrobe. William placed Richard's remaining clothes onto these. The scarf received pride of place on the top shelf.

He admired his handiwork with satisfaction. Putting away clothes was surprisingly comforting. Now then… he should put his own stuff away.

He crawled over to his own bed and dragged out the suitcase from beneath, opening it with a click, and removed his own clothes, neatly folded into separate piles, which made them significantly easier to hang. There were also less of them, so this shouldn't take too long.

William felt that Richard's clothes reflected his personality well: confident, but closed; brooding and dark; powerful, strong. William's, too, gave away his own demeanour.

He owned four hoodies: the one he was wearing at present was coloured forest-green. The remaining three, which he removed from the suitcase, were a midnight purple, deep autumn-red and bright sky-blue. Richard had selected each of them, an attempt to inject some colour into William's fairly bleak sense of style.

Which brought him to his shirts. He typically wore casual dress shirt knock-offs with long sleeves, generally cheap of labels bought by Richard from their local market back in England. They were all had checked patterns, a preference of Richard's. Red, blue and green were the main colours. William hung them all up.

William's T-shirts were fairly bleak. The most interesting colour was dark brown—he was wearing that one presently. There were a couple of greys, a couple of blacks and one white. There weren't enough hangers for these, so he folded them and put them on another shelf.

He wiped his forehead, amused to discover that he was sweating slightly. Putting away clothes was surprisingly tiring.

There was his own underwear and socks, which he shoved into the chest of drawers, and his few pairs of cargos and jeans—his personal trousers of choice—which went onto the wardrobe shelves.

He pulled out a thick brown sheet and a thin, black one, both waterproof, and was momentarily perplexed by them until he'd unfolded them. The first was a cut-to-size sheet of tarpaulin, an invention of Richard's which William could wrap around his bag to protect it from rainfall. The second was his cagoule; his most trusted means of protection from the rain back in England. Richard had one lying around somewhere, too. He shoved them both unceremoniously into a drawer.

Well, that was pretty much everything. Except…

He picked up his own coat. It wasn't as long as Richard's and it wasn't the same colour, being a shade of navy blue, but it was otherwise similar in design. It was made of thick material which insulated well against the cold: Richard's gift in return for the scarf. He hung it up with care. This was a mutual symbol of his and Richard's powerful bond of brotherhood. Like the watch, it was important to him.

He stood up and wiped his hands. Well, that took care of that. He took a step back to admire his handiwork: everything looked neat and in order. Seeing the wardrobe full of their shared clothing was a surprisingly satisfying sight. It was proof that this was their home now… and that they were here together.

"Hey."

Richard stepped in through the bedroom door, munching on an apple. "You sure you're not hungry? The fridge is stocked and there's a fruit bowl on the table."

"I'm fine. That stuff earlier killed my appetite." He hadn't been hungry to begin with, truth be told. Nervousness had a way of doing that.

Richard crunched the last of his apple down and folded his arms, looking over William's wardrobe work, impressed. "Nice job. Sorry for leaving you to do it, I would have done it eventually."

"It's okay. I feel better having something constructive to do."

Richard laid a hand on his shoulder for a few seconds, then flicked off the main light and jumped into his own bed. "Well, I'm about ready to sleep now. Let's call it a night, _Cucciolo._"

William did feel very tired. So he flicked off his own lamp, plunging the room into darkness, and pulled off his hoodie and trousers. He snuggled in under the thick covers and pressed his face into the pillows, warm and soft.

Day zero was over at last. Tomorrow, their lives would begin anew, and the burden of the past could finally be released for good.

He'd cleaned the edges… but that strange hollow in his heart still ached. He descended into sleep, thinking about the future.

* * *

The woods around the guardhouse were not silent. An owl hooted briefly in the trees. A frog, somewhere by the river, croaked loudly. Somewhere in the distance, an animal howled, joining the chorus of night.

…Unheard by human ears in the suffocating darkness of the forest, something unleashed an inhuman, bloodcurdling scream.


	6. Introductions

Chapter Five

Introductions

Thursday

March 26th, 1998

Morning

William woke up.

He kept his eyes closed for several moments, adjusting his thoughts to present circumstances. He wasn't in England—the thought send a little shock through his body. No, he was in America, with Richard, in a small house in the middle of a huge mountainside forest.

Thinking with the strange pseudo-clarity of the half-awoken mind, this whole situation felt suddenly bizarre. In the space of just a few days, their lives had completely changed. Poverty in an English council house had been replaced by to residence in the middle of an American forest, next to a huge mansion. The fact took several moments to process.

After a few moments he opened his eyes, and stared up at the white ceiling for several seconds. He lifted his arm to check the time on his watch: 9:27 in the morning.

He raised his head when the bedroom door banged open and Richard stepped through, clutching a glass of milk. "Oh… sorry, did I wake you?" Richard said.

William shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. Richard was still in his nightclothes, William noticed, and he had tired rings around his eyes. He must have only just woken, too. A glass of milk upon waking was part of Richard's morning ritual.

"You okay?" Richard asked. William nodded.

"I'm fine… I just feel weird," he admitted. "It doesn't feel real. I keep thinking I'm about to wake up again."

"I know what you mean," Richard said. He gulped down the rest of his milk and wiped his lips. "I'm heading to the mansion soon, have an early start on my first day. Do you want to shower before me?"

"No, you go," William said. Richard nodded and banged his way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. After a few seconds the shower started running.

William yawned widely, stretching like a cat, and winced at his popping vertebrae. He wasn't adjusted to such a firm, comfortable mattress. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light, he looked around. Everything was just as it ta been left yesterday. The few books he'd borrowed were still lined up on one of the shelves, and his suitcase was still open on the floor.

He threw off his bedcovers and forced himself to stand. He needed a few things…

There wasn't much left inside his suitcase. He extracted his bathroom essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, towel and bathrobe. He didn't have any soap or shampoo, but he knew Richard would be fine with sharing.

He sat back down on his bed and glanced over to the bathroom door. Richard liked to take his time in the shower, and probably wouldn't be finished for several minutes. Well—William picked up 'Great Expectations' from his bedside cabinet—he had something to do in the meantime.

Fifteen minutes later Richard walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair with another. On cue, William picked up his bath things and stepped into the bathroom.

He hadn't seen this room yet, so he took a few seconds to get his bearings. The right wall was taken up by a large bathtub, which apparently doubled as a shower, judging by the bronze shower nozzle and shower curtain which hung above it. The lavatory was set against the left wall, next to a little toiletry bin. There was a large white cabinet nailed to the opposite wall, probably a toiletry cabinet or a medicine cupboard. Directly opposite William, the sink was set. And on the wall above the sink, a large mirror.

William winced at his reflection. The knowledge that Richard was just outside the door made it easier to bear the sight of it. He would have reacted a lot more strongly otherwise.

Richard had already filled a wire rack on the wall with his sponge, soap and shampoo. William twisted the shower lever experimentally to the left, provoking a jet of water from the shower nozzle. He ran his hand under the flow for a second—freezing cold: twisting the switch the other way turned the water from cold to steaming hot. He pulled off his clothing, and stepped into the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed behind him.

A few minutes later it opened again, and William stepped out, all clean. He towelled himself down and pulled on his bathrobe. He'd leave his hair to drip-dry.

Richard was just pulling on a T-shirt as William returned to the bathroom. He sat down on his bed while Richard finished changing.

"What do you want to do today?" Richard asked.

William would have been perfectly happy to just sit in this room for the whole day, reading and relaxing. But that was what he'd done back in England, most of the time. He didn't want to end up in the same rut again.

"Can I go with you?" he asked.

Richard nodded. "I'm gonna finish getting ready, if you want to make some breakfast. Just have whatever you can find in the kitchen."

"Okay. Do you want me to make you something?"

"Please."

Before that, though, William needed to get dressed. To start with, he pulled on some underwear and socks from the drawers, then threw open the heavy wardrobe doors.

He pulled out a pair of jeans and a plain T-shirt, and examined his hoodies critically. His green hoody was still on the bedroom floor, so there were three hung up: purple, red and blue. He wasn't really bothered by fashion or colour, so he just pulled out a random colour—purple—and pulled it on.

Would he need his coat today? He turned to the window to look outside.

The weather was gloomy today. Everything was covered in a thin sheen of water—it wasn't raining right now, but it must have been during the night. No morning light shone on the puddles—the sun was obscured by cloud cover.

He probably wouldn't need his coat. But he pulled out his cagoule from the drawers, rolled it up and slotted it neatly into his shoulder bag, just in case. As an afterthought he folded his small sheet of tarpaulin and placed it inside, too. If it did rain, his bag would need protection, too.

Richard was sitting at the desk, sorting through the sheets which had been spread haphazardly across its surface. Satisfied with his preparations, William left the bedroom, and stepped through into the kitchen.

It wasn't a large room, but it was a perfectly reasonable size to cater for two. Architecturally it was similar to the rest of the guardhouse, with wooden walls and high ceiling beams along the roof. A gas oven and a sink were set into a short countertop against the left wall, on which several cupboards were set. All the kitchen necessities—microwave, toaster, teabags, coffee, sugar, breadbasket, butter tray—were set haphazardly along the counter.

Directly next to the door was a large industrial fridge-freezer—the door had been left open, exposing many little notes magnetized to its surface, including a calendar covered in scribbles. There was a countertop in the middle of the room, too, with a half-empty fruit bowl on its surface.

William panned his gaze right. Directly across, beyond the countertop, there was a wooden table which took up much of the room, surrounded by six chairs, with salt and pepper shakers set onto its surface. The wall beyond the table was taken up by the window, whose slatted blinds were presently closed, lending the room a dusky low level of light. Two large metal boxes were set against the right wall: a washing machine and a tumble dryer. Both were currently turned off.

Something slammed—William jumped in surprise—the fridge door had been closed, exposing the man standing behind it.

The man seemed just as startled. He was a wide-eyed, watery-gazed man of indeterminate age, with greasy black hair, wearing a neat casual suit and what seemed to be a lab coat. He was clutching a carton of milk in one hand.

"Sorry," William said awkwardly.

The man turned around to the counter, poured some milk into the bowl, and left the carton on the side. He didn't say a word—just hurried past William and out of the room.

William stood for a seconds in surprised silence. In his morning daze he'd completely forgotten about the other guardhouse residents. Encountering one so suddenly had him shocked. He wasn't good with strangers at the best of times… so that man must have been either Steve or Eric, one of the men living across the hall who Scott had mentioned yesterday. Well, that wasn't much of an introduction. William wondered if Richard had already met the other residents.

He was supposed to be making breakfast. But what to make?

He opened the fridge. There wasn't much in it. Just some eggs, a box of mushrooms and a few tomatoes, as well as a few jars containing random foods. He pulled out the box of eggs. These would do.

William considered himself a reasonable cook. He'd learnt the skill from Richard, who was self-taught. When the siblings were still young their mother had given up entirely on cooking real meals for them, so Richard had been forced to take on the role just to keep them both fed. William could remember clearly some of Richard's first cooking experiments—some had been spectacular failures. But as a child, he'd been in hysterics over some of Richard's cooking antics. Those days, cooking with Richard, learning from and enjoying his mistakes, were some of William's fondest memories.

William opened and closed a few cupboards and drawers, extracting a bowl, a wooden spoon, a fork and a saucepan as he went. He sliced a nob of butter from the nearby butter dish with his fork, placed it in the pan and put the pan on a hob, which ignited with a spark of red flame. While the butter melted he broke four eggs into the bowl and whisked them briskly, adding a dash of milk as he went. Once He poured the mixture into the pan, and used the wooden spoon to stir it gently.

Richard passed through the doorway just as he was finishing. "Oh, hey," Richard said, walking over. "What are you making?"

"Scrambled eggs," William replied.

"Need any help?"

"Could you put some toast in the toaster and set the table?"

Richard did so, taking a seat. A few minutes later the siblings were sat opposite one another with scrambled eggs on toast on their plates, ready to eat.

"Thanks for cooking," Richard said, shaking some salt and pepper onto his meal.

"It's okay," William said. "It's been a while since you ate properly."

Richard grinned as he dug into the meal. For a few moments William just sat in silence, soaking up the sensation of peace. This was the most relaxed setting he'd experienced with Richard for a long time, and he wanted to appreciate it for all it was worth. He hoped this tranquillity would last forever.

* * *

The wood bridge outside was slippery to stand on—it must have rained last night. But, leaning over the rope railing, it was clear to see that the silty river had paradoxically shallowed overnight.

The river gorge had not looked as deep last night as it did now. But, now that it was nearly empty of water, it was clearly at least twenty feet deep—a dangerous, even deadly drop. William stepped back from the railing as a plummeting feeling wrenched his gut at the thought.

Richard strode across the bridge, unfazed by the sheer drop on either side, or its slippery wet surface. William followed him quickly.

"Wonderful weather," Richard mused, staring up at the sky with his arms crossed. It was overcast with grey cloud, without a hint of summer blue. William had thought America was supposed to be relatively dry; especially approaching the summer months. He'd been proven wrong so far.

William bunched his hoody up against the cold as he followed Richard along the treeline, searchingly. "Here we go," he said at last, stopping in front of a small gap in the trees. At first William didn't know what Richard was referring to, but as his eyes adjusted to the grey morning light he realised that a path led into the forest beginning here. It was marked on either side by old wooden fencing, which blended neatly into the damp forest foliage.

Last night, walking through the forest hadn't felt like a chore. In the light of day, though, the woods looked a lot more difficult. While the path simply cut through the trees in a gentle slope, the surrounding forest was hilly, bumpy and full of rocks, gnarled roots and the occasional fallen tree. The trodden path would be invisible without its wooden fence, because the entire forest floor was covered with water-soaked mud.

Occasionally, a tree branch would bow under the weight of its captured rainwater, unleashing a cascade onto the forest floor. Richard ploughed in, and William followed, more hesitantly. In this gloomy light, the trees looked as spindly and dangerous as they had during the night.

"We'll have to wait till summer for that walk in the woods," Richard said, as they trod the downward sloping path carefully. This forest was deceptively hilly; it might be difficult to traverse even in the summer months. Mountain climbing seemed a more accurate description. Raccoon Forest was a beautiful place, but it was also quite clearly a dangerous one.

Something howled a long note in the distance.

William picked up his pace slightly, walking closer to Richard. "What _is_that?" he asked.

"…Wolves, maybe?" Richard suggested. "I don't know if they keep dogs at the mansion, if that's what you're thinking."

William didn't respond. He hoped it _was_a dog… while he was fond of wolves—they were his favourite animal—the prospect of encountering a pack of wild ones, in the middle of these dense woods, was not appealing. He liked dogs, too, anyway. If anything they were a lot friendlier.

After the echoes of the howl had died, it occurred to William just how quiet the forest was today. No birds were singing in the trees, no woodland creatures shuffled about in the bracken. The only sound was of leaves blowing in a gentle breeze, and Richard and William's damp footfalls.

Richard skipped down a sudden downward slope, but William slipped and struggled to keep his balance as he slid down. He stumbled at the end for several steps, and unexpectedly breached the treeline.

Richard grabbed him just in time to avoid falling flat on his face, and pulled him upright. "You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah…"

There was the mansion. At this distance the large building looked strangely lopsided, and it took several seconds for William to realise why: while lights illuminated most of the windows on its east side, the western wall was completely unlit. This gave the bizarre impression of a distorted, winking face, an oddly disturbing image.

Richard's footfalls crunched on the yellow gravel path. William jogged up next to him, and they approached the doors together.

Just as Richard laid a hand on one of the handles, something howled again. William spun around—it had sounded close this time.

Richard ignored the noise, and just walked inside, holding the door open. William hurried inside, uncomfortable being outside on his own. Suddenly the forest didn't feel so safe anymore.

They were back in the mansion. William spent a few moments absorbing the sight of its grandeur once more, and it suddenly hit him that he'd be seeing it regularly for a long time to come. Yesterday it hadn't really hit him yet, but… the Spencer Estate was his home now. It was a struggle to wrap his head around the thought.

"Morning, Richard!" Someone called. William and Richard both turned to the voice. Scott was passing through the art gallery door, to the right. Richard raised a hand in greeting as Scott strode up to them.

"I was on my way to work when I saw you coming from upstairs," he explained. "You're up early. How come?"

"First day," Richard said. "Thought I'd make an early start."

"Dedicated." Scott grinned. "I'm on-duty already if you want to tag along… what are you going to do, William?"

Richard turned to William. "Will you be alright on your own?"

William nodded. He'd have to get used to it sometime, he supposed.

"Cool," Scott said. "Let's head out. Catch you later, William!"

"I'll see you soon, William," Richard said. "I'm working late tonight so I won't be back for dinner. Are you alright with cooking?"

"Yes," William said.

"Alright. See you soon."

Richard and Scott departed to the gallery, leaving William on his own.

What was he going to do today? It occurred to him that there wasn't much to do, except go to the library. Well, _that_, and explore the mansion a little. He did need to get his bearings.

On his own, William felt nervous. If he got into conflict with anyone, Richard wasn't there to pull him out of it today… he'd have to be careful not to get in anyone's way. He really didn't like being on his own…

"Can't believe they still haven't fixed it…"

The dining room doors were thrown open as a couple of researchers stepped through. William stood rooted to the spot.

"I know," the other person agreed, as the two of them walked straight past. "It's been, what, a week now? Do you think it's serious?"

"I think I seriously need a hot meal…" The gallery door shut behind them, blocking out the sound of their conversation.

He wondered what they were talking about. He'd never pluck up the courage to ask, not in a million years. Maybe he'd ask Richard to find out later…

With no particular objective in mind, William wandered into the dining hall.

He closed the door quietly behind him to avoid attracting attention. There were a few people sitting at the dining table, chatting quietly in pairs or small groups. Their conversations were punctured repeatedly by the booming metronome of the grandfather clock.

The far end of the room was bathed in a warm glow—William realised that the fireplace must be lit. He wandered along the table quietly; thankfully, everyone ignored him completely, or he was walking too quietly to be noticed. Being around so many strangers made him uncomfortable, especially when he wasn't at Richard's side.

Nonetheless, he glanced sidelong at the breakfast dishes. There were cereal bowls, jugs of water and a couple of large platters of sandwiches set at intervals along the table, as well as a plate and a glass set in front of every seat. Periodically someone would reach over and take a sandwich, or refill their glass of water with one of the jugs.

Noticeably, none of the food was cooked. In a mansion like this, William would have expected without question to see cooked breakfasts on the morning menu. The presence of sandwich platters and water jugs matched the mansion's upper-class aesthetic, but still, the image was strange. Hadn't one of those researchers mentioned a lack of hot meals?

"Oh, Will! Good morning!"

William stopped at the end of the table, and turned to the voice. It was Alice—very much a familiar face, thankfully—who was sitting on the very last seat on the opposite side. The man opposite her looked up at him; William didn't recognise the man. He focused on Alice, embarrassed by the attention.

She waved pleasantly, with a smile on her face. "Sit down, sit down," she said, gesturing to the empty chair next to the stranger. William took the seat hesitantly, somewhat unwilling to sit by a stranger, but knowing it would be rude do decline. The man took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully, and looking quizzically at William. William glanced up at him nervously.

The man was quite a bit taller than William, even sitting down, and he was also fairly thin. He was handsome, with short, neatly-cut hair, hollow cheekbones and—most noticeably—sparkling emerald eyes, a dark shade of green. William had never seen eyes quite like them. The man's Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed his bite of sandwich.

"Will, this is Jon Toleman. Jon, this is Will Belmont. He's the new security guard's brother."

Jon held out a hand to shake. William took it, and Jon shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Will." William hoped that the people he met wouldn't all start using the derivative of his name under Alice's influence—he hated it. But he didn't have the confidence to say so. "I'm just a researcher."

He didn't _speak_ like "just a researcher", William couldn't help noticing. Jon's neat dress clothes were crisp and clean, unlike the slightly rumpled outfits worn by many of the mansion staff. He sat with distinct posture, and when speaking, his vowels were perfectly rounded, consonants perfectly clipped. His entire aura projected upper-middle class, although his face and words, while obviously distinguished in countenance, were distinctly without hauteur.

"Would you like a sandwich?" Alice asked. "Take what you like. There's egg and cress, tinned tuna and mayonnaise or crab paste," she explained, indicating a different third of the plate with each statement. "With the powercut in the west wing the refrigerator isn't working, so the fillings are all tinned and jarred, I'm afraid."

William leaned over and plucked a slice of crab paste sandwich from the selection, a flavour he'd never tried before. Jon poured a glass of water and placed it in front of him, then carried on speaking to Alice as if he'd never been interrupted. William appreciated the lack of attention, happy to sit by and take bites out of his sandwich in silence.

"Yes, I misplaced the dog whistle somehow," he continued. "I've no idea where I lost it. Peter isn't going to be happy about it…"

So they _did_ have dogs at the mansion. William took another bite and chewed in silence, eager to hear more.

"Peter won't find out," Alice said, with a half-smile, and sipped her own water. "How's he going to? _I'm _not going to tell him. He'll just have to deal with it, and to hell with him in any case. Besides," she added, "he's hardly going to pull _you _up about it. _You're_on first-name with Sir Spencer. One word to the big guy and you could get him fired, if you wanted to."

"I just don't like conflict," Jon said. "Especially with Peter. He's a snide bastard."

Alice laughed shortly, surprisingly sharp for someone so sweet-looking. "Tell me about it. He's a complete dick. Just act like you never had it, what's he going to do?"

Jon finished off his own sandwich. "You're right, I guess. Well, I should head to work, there's so much to do this month... I'll see you later, Alice. You too, Will." He stood up and left, leaving his plate and glass at the table.

Alice must have seen William looking at them. "The kitchen staff clean everything up," she explained. "It's easier for them that way, the kitchen's way too small for ten people to go piling up plates down there. How are you, Will?"

"Fine," he said. He didn't mention his panic attack the day before. He didn't feel it was necessary, and besides, he wouldn't want to make Alice feel guilty.

It seemed he didn't need to, however. "I'm really sorry about yesterday," she said, expression turning crestfallen. "I didn't mean to abandon you guys. It was a double-booking on my schedule… didn't even realise until halfway through the tour. They give me so much to do sometimes even _I_ don't realise when that happens."

"It's okay," William said.

Alice smiled. "If you ever need anything, just let me know. That's my job, after all." William wondered exactly what Alice's job actually was. She seemed to do something of everything. "I'm pretty busy most of the time, but I'll see what I can do."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Alice took a sip of her drink and William ate some more of his sandwich, unsure how to prolong the conversation.

William sipped his drink. "It's pretty tough," Alice continued. William looked up over his glass. "Being the only woman around most of the time, I mean. Most of the researchers are men. Sometimes I wish I had some female company, you know?" Her brow furrowed as if in sudden anger. Her tone had taken on a very slightly manic edge. William remained silent, still holding up his glass. Alice hadn't noticed his frozen stance. "I'm so overworked! I don't see why they don't just hire someone else; they want so much done…"

She slumped forward, so suddenly that William twitched thinking she'd collapsed, spilling a little water on the table in front of him. But she was just sitting with her head heavily bowed, hair covering her face and eyes. Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, she looked extremely tired and extremely sad. "I guess I just have no-one to talk to..."

William remained silent. He didn't know what to say.

After a few seconds Alice flipped her head back and adjusted her glasses, and suddenly she was normal again. "Oh well," she said brightly, with a smile.

But she wasn't _quite_normal, William realised. Maybe she never had been. He knew the signs of emotional repression—he'd experienced them personally—and suddenly he could see them all. The overly-bright smile, the slightly manic glint of the eyes, the bunched shoulder muscles, the hands clutched to the lap. She stood up quickly.

"I should get to work," she continued. "Is there anything you need?" William shook his head.

Alice smiled again, a wide, brittle smile. "Okay. See you soon, then." She clip-clopped quickly off through a nearby door and disappeared.

William sat at the table alone for several seconds, completely surprised by this turn of events. Suddenly he had a completely different perspective on Alice, under these totally random circumstances. He hadn't seen _that_ coming…

In those few seconds, he'd seen a whole new side of Alice. It seemed that she had some serious hidden problems. William knew all about those. He'd seen loneliness in her eyes hidden behind a manic gleam, and a frown of sadness plastered over with a false and fragile smile. He thought back to her short sadistic laugh at Jon's comment about Peter. She herself had called him a "complete dick". Alice's relationship with many her co-workers seemed far from pleasant. It must be hard, being a woman surrounded by men, with nobody relatable to talk to.

William hadn't really been paying attention before, to the sexes of the researchers. The fact that they were strangers made them faceless to him. But he looked down the sparsely-populated table, and realised that of all the researchers sitting along it, only one was a woman, talking quietly to a man across the table. He averted his gaze before she caught him looking. Somehow, he doubted Alice would be friends with this straight-faced woman.

Alice must be very lonely…

He felt a pang of pity for the young woman. She couldn't be much older than himself. He recognised the signs of someone his own age that had experienced hardship and strife, and Alice had displayed them all. What exactly had she been through…?

William finished his sandwich quickly, savouring the sweet and rich flavour of crab, and then stood up to leave. He didn't want to sit around with strangers for any longer than necessary. But where to go now...?

Pretty much out of options, William passed through the doorway which Alice had left through, which had been left conveniently open.

As he passed through, someone else barged past him and into the dining hall. He stepped back in surprise and watched the man go. He was dressed in black and white, like a waiter, and indeed was holding a platter of sandwiches in both hands. Down the hall, to the right, another man was hurrying towards him clutching two jugs of water in his arms. The kitchen must be at the other end of the hall, then. Alice had said the kitchen staff were always busy and wouldn't want to be disturbed, so he probably shouldn't go that way. The last thing he wanted to encounter this morning was a disgruntled waiter.

William decided to go left and explore the other end of the corridor. He definitely hadn't been this way before.

Around the corner was a cosy little seating area. There were two fairly plush-looking chairs situated next to a small table with a lamp on top, currently switched off. It wasn't really necessary, because the nearby window granted entrance to the gloomy morning light from outside.

There was a red metal box on one of the chairs, William noticed. The lid was open, revealing an array of tools stuffed inside, including several screwdrivers, a series of nuts and bolts, electrical wires and tape and what looked like an entire slot filled with electrical fuses. What was this doing here? Had someone left it by mistake?

There was a piece of paper inside the box. William hesitated before picking it up. Would he get in trouble it someone found him searching through their things? Just reading a note couldn't do any harm…

He picked up the piece of paper. It was a untidy hand-written note.

_3/25/98_

_After evaluating virtually every possible fault in the west wing's electricity grid, I haven't found any explanation for the power outage. The only remaining possibilities that I can think of are a faulty fuse, or a dodgy circuit somewhere cutting all the power as soon as it's activated. I still need to triple check the fuses and the second floor circuits. I have examined most of the exposed west wing circuits, the only ones remaining are the kitchen circuits and the elevator, which I need special permission to investigate. I'll check those on the 29th. _

Ah… this explained the power shortage that everyone was going on about. So there was a powercut in the west wing… thinking back, this also explained why half the lights had been off when he and Richard had approached the mansion this morning. Even during the tour, he couldn't remember seeing any electrical lighting in this half of the house. The only unnatural light had been from the burning torches in the library hallway.

William put the note back down and looked around tentatively, as if he'd committed some sort of crime in reading it. But he needn't have worried; there was nobody around. He wondered what he should do about the toolbox. If someone had left it by mistake they would certainly return for it… he should leave it here.

Well, he had nothing else to do, so he may as well head through that nearby door and see what was on the other side.

He closed the door behind him. It just led on to a shadowy hallway. He followed it around a corner, and was confronted with a set of stairs which he'd definitely never seen before.

He was about to climb the stairs when something caught his eye. In the small rectangular nook next to the rising staircase, a couple of potted plants were placed on the floor. William stepped closer, and bent down to look at them.

He didn't know why they'd caught his eye. There was nothing particularly special about them, except for the fact they were one-hundred percent uninteresting to look at. Just a long green stem with a few green leaves growing out of it. Whoever had chosen these as decorative foliage must have incredibly bland tastes.

William stood upright, and made to climb the stairs—when someone barrelled down them, collided with him, and sent them both flying.

"Whoa!

William banged his head on the floor and slid across the carpet, coming to a halt several feet away. He stared up at the ceiling in shock for several seconds, dazed. Sudden panic seized his chest when he couldn't draw a breath.

"Crap, I'm so sorry!" someone said, kneeling at William's side. William suddenly managed a deep breath—he was only winded.

The person lifted his head up gently by the neck. Just as the stranger looked down into his eyes an unexpected beam of sunlight lanced in through a nearby window, bathing his face in a golden glow. William stared back, disorientated.

The other person was a young man with messy light brown hair and a pair of bright-green eyes, sparkling in the unexpected sunlight. He was handsome, in an unremarkable sort of way, but worry obviously marred his features.

"I'm fine…" William mumbled, sitting up slowly and rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you…"

"I'm okay, really."

William pulled himself to his feet and brushed himself down. He gave the other man, who was covering his mouth nervously with a hand, a tentative smile to show he was alright. The man looked ashamed enough not to be angry with. He looked extremely anxious.

"I'm really sorry…" he said again. William noticed his outfit for the first time: beige trousers, a beige T-shirt and beige gloved hands. He was fressed like a plumber. William just shook his head with a faint smile.

"Don't worry."

The man smiled back. For a moment they both just stood there awkwardly. "Who are you?" the man asked eventually. "You're… not a researcher, right?"

"…No," William said, suddenly nervous now that he'd found himself in conversation with a total stranger. "My brother…"

"Oh, you're William?" the man said. He smiled tentatively. "I heard about you. You're a pretty big deal, apparently…" His expression transformed quickly into a worried frown. "Oh, I need to go; I'm in kind of a hurry…"

The pieces fit together in William's mind. "You've lost your tools?"

The man stopped halfway into a jog. "I left them behind… how did you know?"

"They're on a chair through there; I just saw them a second ago..."

The man sighed. "Thank god. I'd be screwed without them..."

William felt an odd connection to this man. They shared the same nervous disposition, he supposed. They seemed compatible, friendship-wise. He felt oddly anxious in his presence.

He mustered up a smile. "You'd better get them, then."

"Right. Uh, see you later, then," the man said, hurrying off.

William watched him go, and realised that neither of them had introduced themselves. Somehow, a haphazard half-chat was a lot easier for William to deal with than a full-on conversation. It didn't feel so forced.

William looked out the window for several moments, watching the sun's brief golden rays fade inevitably back to grey. Friendship… that was a pleasant thought, at least.

* * *

Afternoon

After several hours of reading in the library, William had decided to look for Richard. During his search he wandered through a door on the main hall second floor, and found himself outside, on a balcony.

The weather had returned to cold grey after his brief encounter with the electrician. It was chilly outside; he crossed his arms tightly, a barrier of warmth against the cold air.

The door opened onto an outdoor corridor. He walked around the wall and out onto a small concrete area, where there was nothing but a shiny glass table.

There was a bag slumped on the table. It was obviously a woman's handbag, coloured a deep red. Had someone left this behind? Toolboxes, handbags… everybody seemed extremely forgetful in this place. After nosing around the electrician's toolkit earlier, he didn't feel like pushing his luck. He left the bag where it was. He walked past and out onto the balcony proper.

The view here was a picturesque perspective of the forest, which was just as dull and uninviting from this vantage as it had been at ground level. A little breeze blew out across the forest, causing a brief rustle of leaves.

He followed the balcony around the building, still looking out over the trees. The guardhouse must be out somewhere in that direction, judging by the direction in which the forest path led, but it was impossible to tell where it was from here. The woods were too hilly and haphazard to determine anything between the trees. If someone walked out into the woods without a path to follow, they would probably end up hopelessly lost…

William turned a corner, where the balcony ended abruptly. He leaned over the very edge, and looked down. Below, there was a small fenced-off patio with a door leading into the house on the left wall.

William recognised this place: he'd gone out there on his own briefly when he and Richard were exploring yesterday.

Very close by, a dog howled.

William stepped back. Was that one of the mansion dogs? He looked carefully at the patio. It sounded like it had come from around the corner of the patio below…

Some slammed open the door to the patio below, stepped through, and stood for a second to take a deep angry breath. William recognised him—it was Peter Smith, the man he'd encountered in the office yesterday. His posture was tense—he looked angry…

Peter disappeared round the corner. Shortly, around the corner below, something started to growl—so the dogs must be around there. William listened carefully.

"Shut up!" Peter shouted. William started with surprise.

William's eyes widened in horror as a soft, wet thump resounded from around the corner, accompanied by a yelp of pain. "_Keep_your damn yap closed…"

William was appalled. What the hell was wrong with this man?

"Want some food? Have it, ya little bastard… happy now? Fucking mutt…"

William ducked instinctively as Peter rounded the corner. The door slammed shut. William remained hunched down, utterly appalled. How dare that sick man treat such a helpless creature like that?

He had to check that the dog was okay…

William rounded the corner briskly, and was about to pass the glass table when someone opened the nearby door.

He panicked, and stepped back behind the nearby wall. Was it Peter? Had he been seen?

It wasn't; the speaker was a woman. "Thank god," she muttered vaguely. "It's still here."

"Okay? Can we go now?" A man's voice, but that wasn't Peter, either. William's shoulders slumped with relief.

"Don't be so impatient. _You _don't have to lead this stupid experiment, do you?"

Experiment…?

"_I _have to look after the stupid dogs for Peter, which is ten times worse than you're 'experiment', in my books. Damn things are vicious."

"Well, they wouldn't be very good 'guard dogs' if they couldn't 'guard', would they…"

The door closed, and William was alone once more.

He needed to find that dog. He couldn't remember how to get to the patio from here… but that man had just said that he had to supervise the dogs today. He might be going there now…

Nervous and exhilarated from sudden adrenaline, William hurried after them, back into the main hall.

Another nearby door was closing as he stepped inside. He managed to grab the handle just in time, and slip silently through into the next hallway.

"At least we've got a clean sample this time, I suppose," the woman was saying, from around a corner. William trotted briskly up to the corner and peeked around. The man and woman were retreating in the opposite direction, backs turned to him. The scarlet handbag he'd seen a minute ago must belong to her, because she was now carrying it over a shoulder.

"What happened last time?"

"No idea. Probably one of the incompetent assistants messing things up again."

William hurried along as they disappeared through another door. He was fascinated by this conversation. Experiments? Samples? Assistants? This woman must work at some kind of laboratory. Maybe she was an Umbrella scientist. She could be an important figure in the company. No wonder she sounded like such a snob.

William found himself at the top of a stairwell. He recognized it—this was near where he and Richard had encountered Peter Smith yesterday. He sincerely hoped they wouldn't run into each other again…

The two researchers had reached the bottom of the stairs when William peeked over the banister. "Anyway," the woman continued, "you were saying?"

William tip-toed down the staircase as they disappeared off down the hall, hastening his pace as the sound of their voices started to fade.

"Oh, the dogs," the man was saying. "They don't obey Peter whatsoever, apparently. All I have to do is feed them. But Peter said to just give them half a can, or they'll get overexcited. It's the feeding itself, that's the tricky bit… if I get too close they'll think _I'm _dinner."

"Sounds rough."

"Tell me about it…"

They disappeared through a side door. William stopped in front of it, and decided not to follow. He'd pressed his luck far enough today.

Uncharacteristically, a surge of anger washed over him. His fists clenched. So the dogs _were _guard hounds… and Peter Smith was beating and underfeeding them. Did he really hold enough power to get away with something like that?

Someone through the door was speaking loudly. "_There_ you are. Where the hell have you been? I told you to feed the dogs! I had to do it myself! Do you _realise_ how busy I am?" Oh, joy… _that_ was Peter Smith. "Oh, get out of the way, I don't want to hear it…"

He was coming this way.

Panicking, William hurled himself down the hall just as the door opened. He came up to a metal door and opened it, hurried through and closed it quietly behind him, heart beating fast. If Peter realised he'd been eavesdropping…

He froze as someone—Peter—stomped past the door, but he didn't open it. A door slammed inside, and William was alone once more.

As William calmed down, he realised how severely he'd overreacted. He felt quite pathetic for a moment. He was a coward without Richard. Hopeless. A mess.

A whimper made him spin around. He took in his surroundings for the first time: he'd found his way accidentally to the fenced-off patio. The sky had darkened slightly, he noticed. Was it really that late? It didn't feel like he'd been here for very long…

He rounded the corner, and there were the dogs.

There were three of them. He recognised the breed: they were all Doberman Pinschers. Each had the same sleek, smooth body, covered head-to-toe with a very fine layer of black fir, which faded to a tan beige colour around the muzzle and feet. They all possessed short, stubby triangular ears—these must have been surgically altered, because normally a Doberman's ears would be longer, droopier, almost rabbit-like. Their tails were also stubbier than they should have been.

William hesitated before moving closer. Two of the dogs were locked up inside large iron cages. Both were lying down, heads resting on their paws, apparently asleep. The third was chained to the fence, lying on its side as if it had just keeled over.

The third looked extremely unhealthy. All three were clearly malnourished—they were all unhealthily thin—but the chained dog looked physically ill. Its tongue was lolling out, eyes closed, and it was breathing laboriously. It seemed to be asleep.

William was disgusted to see that its face and head were covered with wet, sticky brown dog food. An empty food can had been dropped nearby. Another surge or rage overcame him. This must be Peter's idea of 'feeding the dogs'. What the hell was wrong with that man?

Despite his compassion, however, William hesitated to step closer. These were guard dogs; they could easily be dangerous, aggressive—especially if abused and underfed.

He stepped closer slowly, careful not to wake them. But there was probably no point. Two of them were caged anyway, and the one on the floor looked so vulnerable—it couldn't possibly be dangerous. It looked like it couldn't even lift its head, let alone attack him. Looking down at it, he felt complete pity. Poor, helpless puppy…

He knelt down slowly and shrugged off his hoody, placing a gentle palm on the side of its face. It whined quietly and shuffled in its sleep, as if trying to pull away. William withdrew his hand—it was now sticky with mucky dog food. He wiped it on his hoody.

He wrapped the garment around his hands, and very gently, used it to wipe the food off of the poor dog's face. It whined again, more loudly, and tried to push itself away. William didn't relent, though, and after a short while the dog seemed to realise William wasn't its enemy, and lay still.

William rolled the hoody up once the dogs face was completely clean, and laid a hand very gently on the bridge of its muzzle. It opened its dark eyes very slightly, and looked up at him with a terrified, quivering gaze. William stroked its face gently with his thumb, rolling the dirtied hoody into a ball with his other hand. He'd clean it up later.

He realised suddenly that the dog in the nearest cage was sitting up.

He turned to look at it, slowly, worried it might be aggressive. It, too, looked malnourished, but it wasn't nearly as unhealthy as the poor animal on the ground. It was also a lot larger—very big for a Doberman—and looked far stronger and healthier than the other two. It was also significantly calmer than the panicky hound here on the floor.

William stared for several moments into its deep brown eyes, so dark as to be almost black. It stared back, motionless. William couldn't tell if its canine expression was calm, playful or aggressive. It was impossible to tell.

There was intelligence behind those eyes. He could see that.

He crawled closer. The dog didn't react—it stared unblinkingly at him. William didn't break eye contact. If the animal _was _aggressive, losing attention would be a sure-fire way to provoke it.

The dog pressed its face up against the cage bars as if trying to twist its way through. It _seemed _friendly enough. Tentatively, ready to draw back at a moment's warning, William reached out and laid a hand on its muzzle.

It pressed its nose against his hand, and he stroked his thumb over its cheek. The dog started licking the nervous sweat off his palm.

William smiled warmly at the affection. He watched his reflection calmly in the Dobermans dark, dark eyes. There was exceptional intelligence shining behind those deep-brown eyes. The fact was as plain as day.

* * *

Evening

William slammed the washing machine door shut, and pressed the 'on' button. Slowly, its bowl began to fill with soapy water.

He stood up straight and looked at his watch: 8:37. Richard had said to make his own dinner, and that was just what he had done.

It seemed that everything was fully cooked. He walked over to the oven and switched off both of the hobs he'd used, watching the foam of bubbles disappear from the saucepan, and lifting the lid off the frying pan. Yes; the spaghetti had softened, and the Bolognese was cooked through, bubbling and simmering and wafting a delicious aroma around the room.

Maybe it was their Italian roots, or perhaps it was a residual preference from when their mother had used to cook, but Richard and William both possessed a preference for traditional Italian dishes. Anything with pasta was a good meal in their eyes and stomachs, and thankfully the guardhouse cupboards were stocked with a quantity of dry pasta, separated into large jars. William had thrown what he could find together to develop this dish, and it had turned out perfect.

He left half the Bolognese in the pan; he'd cooked extra in case Richard wanted to reheat some later. Richard tended to have about three dinners over the course of the evening, so this wouldn't be unusual. William brought his plate over to the table, sweeping his book over so he could set it down, and sat himself down in front of it.

He stared out the window as he ate. It had been a fairly uneventful day at the mansion today—he hadn't expected it to be a rollercoaster in the first place, so this didn't surprise him. What _did_surprise him was the dark underbelly he'd observed today.

Anger simmered still beneath his ever-present nervousness at Peter's abuse of the dogs. Tempted to free them from their cages back in the patio, William had ultimately lost his nerve and left, in case someone found him tampering with their restraints and informed Peter. He regretted it now, and _wished_ he had the courage to protect the things he cared about. Richard would have freed the dogs, he didn't doubt it for a second—probably would have stolen them some food and released them to the woods, too, and done it with the world watching.

William wondered if the other employees shared Peter's vindictive nature. He could understand what Alice was talking about now, when she'd called Peter a 'complete dick'. He wondered if Alice's hatred of Peter was also a consequence of his abuse of the dogs. Perhaps the man had done something different to provoke her. Hell, maybe he'd done something different to provoke _everyone_ in this place_._ He seemed like a complete bastard, and so far no-one seemed to like him much.

But William had met some nice people, too. His thoughts flashed back to the electrician he'd met in the hallway. He'd seemed like a nice man, someone William could relate to, even from that small first impression. He'd possessed a sparkle of quiet kindness in his eyes. William found himself hoping that they would cross paths again, and was momentarily taken aback by the sensation.

He hoped Richard had enjoyed his first day of work. He hadn't seen his brother since this morning, but that was okay. He knew they'd be seeing each other tomorrow, and every other day, while living here. They had all the time in the world to find time to spend together.

The washing machine began its spin cycle with a loud whir. He hadn't thought of it at the time, but he hoped dog food wouldn't stain his hoody. It was one of Richard's gifts to him, and the last thing he wanted was to ruin it. He'd specifically used a low heat setting on the washer, so that it wouldn't be damaged during the wash. Richard wouldn't mind if it was, he knew—but that didn't matter. It was important to him.

So his first real day at the mansion was over. Maybe it was too overwhelming to fully comprehend the enormity of this change, but while it _was_ strange, William felt that he wasn't reacting as strongly as he should be. Possibly it was the result of being catapulted into a new life so quickly, rather than easing slowly into a different setting. The transition had been so swift that he might have missed the feeling of it.

Or it could just be that here, at the mansion, life was peaceful for the first time in many years. Perhaps his mind was just taking time to rest, settle and relax… for once.

But he'd also discovered that not everything at the mansion was tranquil. As he finished his meal, he stared out into the darkness, and remembered the power behind those dark and intelligent eyes.

* * *

Interlude I

Market

March 20th, 1997

Near Evening

It was a wet day in a small south-east England market, in the middle of a cold spring. It wasn't raining—the pavements were still soaked from the heavy rainfall of last night—but the sky was overcast and slowly darkening as evening approached. Even so, the outdoor market was still bustling with determined shoppers, eager to get their money's worth before the summer rush. Amidst the crowds, two figures were standing by of the market's many clothing stalls…

"Richard, I want to go home…"

"Shush. Which one do you prefer?"

Richard held up two checked shirts, one red and one blue.

After a few seconds of silence he huffed impatiently and folded his arms. "I'm just going to buy both of them if you don't pick."

William sighed. He didn't like buying clothes—he felt guilty. Richard shouldn't be spending his limited finances on trivial things like this.

But if Richard was anything at all, he was determined. "Fine… the red one," William said, giving up.

"I'll get both," Richard decided, walking over to the stall manager and handing over his money.

"Richard! What are you doing?"

"Buying both."

William looked down at the ground. "Why? I didn't ask you to…"

Richard just grinned. "I have enough money, _Cucciolo_. Been saving for ages. It's your birthday—I _want _to buy you stuff. But I want you to like what I buy."

"You know I like plain stuff…"

Richard folded his arms casually. "You need a bit of colour in your wardrobe, William."

"Look at you, though. You wear black all the time."

"Hush, _Cucciolo. _What would you prefer, then?"

"I don't want anything…"

"William."

William looked up. Richard didn't look impressed, which made him feel quite horrible. Richard laid on guilt-trips for the most trivial and ridiculous things, but they worked every single time, and he knew it.

Fine…

"A hoody?"

Richard clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "Alright, let's go find some."

Richard eventually spotted a stall which sold hooded anoraks, and pulled William through the crowd—William shrunk away from the contact with strangers, but Richard was unfazed, towering over them and easily barging his way through.

"Make sure it's colourful," Richard said

"Richard…"

"Nope. Come on; let's see what we can find…"

Richard extracted one hoody from a hanger. "Here, what do you think of this?"

William took the hoody from Richard's hands. He ran his fingers over the material: it was soft and smooth, almost a silky texture—but the inside was thick and woolly. It was a zip-up hoody, coloured a shade of deep forest green—his favourite colour. It wasn't flashy, nor was it bland like the rest of his wardrobe. He actually liked it.

"You want it?"

Richard was holding another hoody up to display, a shade of midnight purple, against his chest. William didn't want to spend Richard's money, but accepting that he wouldn't win, he nodded.

"Alright. Pick a few more, then."

William gave him a pleading look. Richard wasn't impressed.

"_Enough_," Richard huffed, with mock impatience. William winced slightly, even though he knew that Richard serious.

Richard leaned down, face-to-face with his little brother. "I've been saving up for ages, William. Would you let me spend some money on you? It's not like I get the chance as often as I'd like."

William's expression softened. He hadn't thought of it like that at all. But, if he were in Richard's position, he'd feel exactly the same. He realised how ungrateful he was being.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. I like that one". Richard shifted the purple hoody into a more comfortable grip. "Help me find some more?"

Richard grinned, and William smiled in response.

They left the stall with two other colours: William clutched his sky-blue and blood-red hoody's nervously in his arms, alongside his other clothing, all wrapped up in plastic. Richard, in the lead, seemed suddenly elated, which lifted William's mood enough to allow a public smile to adorn his dazed countenance.

"Do you want anything else?" Richard asked, as they found their way to the fountain square, an open space in the centre of the market where people were milling about chatting. In the summer children would be playing in the cool fountain water, but everyone seemed to be avoiding the decorative landmark, as if it magnified the cold.

William's eye was caught by something in the nearest stall, which sold all sorts of paper, pens and other stationary. He approached it nervously.

His eyes had fallen on a glossy wooden clipboard. Immediately he considered how well it would fit with the rest of his stationary collection… if he were an investigator or a reporter, a clipboard would always come in handy. It was nice to collect mementos of such dreams, even if they never would be a reality.

The price sticker declared its price as £2. William picked it up nervously, and thankfully didn't have to attract the attention of the pretty stall operator: she noticed the movement and came over with a bright smile.

"Is that all you want?" she asked. William nodded, and pulled out the spare change from his pocket, handing it over.

"Happy birthday," the woman said as they completed the transaction, smiling. William looked down at his badge— declaring "16 today!"—which Richard had forced him to wear.

Richard was smiling, too, appearing beside William. "Have a good day!" the woman said, turning to serve another customer.

"I'm proud of you."

William clutched the treasured clipboard to his chest, on top of his bags of clothes. This had been a really good day.

"William, come stand by the fountain with me for a sec. Put your stuff down for a minute." William did so.

"I have one more thing for you," Richard said.

Richard withdrew a small black box from behind his back. Perplexed, William looked at it for a second, then up into Richard's face. "What's this?"

Richard offered it to him, grinning. "Open it."

William clutched the little case in his palms like a little treasure. He slipped open the lid and peeked inside.

Wrapped around the little cushion inside was a wristwatch. It wasn't particularly special or unique; the wristband was just brown leather, and the face was a simple analogue face with roman numerals printed around it, little steel hands ticking slowly round in a clockwork circle. They declared the time to be 4:55.

William removed the watch delicately and held it up, fascinated. It wasn't expensive, as watches went, but he'd never owned anything special like this before. He held it up into the fading sunlight; its glass surface glinted dimly.

Richard took it from his hands gently, and unclasped it. "Hold out your wrist."

William did so, and Richard carefully fastened the watch on. William held up his wrist experimentally as if checking the time, elated. Nobody ever bought him nice things like this. He stared at it, watching the seconds tick away. It was perhaps the most precious thing he'd ever been able to hold.

"You like it?" Richard asked.

William nodded. Never before had Richard been able to buy nice things for him like this before. No-one had. A sudden rush of gratitude and love surged over him. He smiled, warmly, for the first time in a while.

"Happy birthday, _Cucciolo._


End file.
